Here Comes Trouble
by Beaubier
Summary: The further adventures of Aurora and Northstar at the Xavier Institute. Sequel to Relativity, now complete. Featuring The Scarlet Witch, Quicksilver, Cylcops, Jean Grey, Havok, Cannonball, Shadowcat, and more. A bit of fun, before the angst!
1. Caffiene Injection

TITLE: Here Comes Trouble   
AUTHOR: Beaubier  
AUTHOR'S E-MAIL: xbeaubier@hotmail.com  
PERMISSION TO ARCHIVE: Yeah, lemme know  
CATEGORY: General/Humor  
RATINGS/WARNINGS: Rated R for drugs, sex, and rock n roll. Not to mention language.   
SUMMARY: The further adventures of Aurora and Northstar at the Xavier Institute. Featuring Shadowcat, Scarlet Witch, Sunspot, Quicksilver, Rogue, Berserker, Avalanche, and… loads of other mutants.  Sequel to Relativity.   
DISCLAIMER: I didn't invent the X-Men, and I have nothing to do with Evolution. I'm sure that's been made abundantly clear by this time.   
NOTES: The sequel to Relativity—a self-indulgent excuse for me to release the plot bunnies that were dying to run amok while I was writing it. Mostly silly, sometimes sad, generally just a fluffy bit of fun. No overreaching plot here, just a few stories of mischief.  Thanks to Sue Penkivech for Beta reading this horrific fluff! And SilverCaladan for putting up with my drunken arse. Much love.

**Caffeine Injection**

_Wherein Jean-Paul and Pietro can't seem to slow down_

_Telltale quote: Who gave them coffee? –Lance Alvers_

                Jean-Paul lifted the book reverently from the shelf, and ran his fingers over the embossed cover. He remembered trying to read it, when he was twelve. The year before he won his first national championship. Raymonde had let him borrow it, while he was staying at one of the resorts to keep him busy. He'd been a bit hyperactive, even before his powers manifested, and his instructor and mentor had often commented that only books could really get him to hold still for any extended period of time. And a select few books, at that.

                He'd been too young to understand this particular book, really. The translation was old, and the language was thick, particularly for one who'd grown up speaking joual French, no matter how good his English was. But he'd loved the feeling of it. Loved the drama of it; romance, betrayal, blood, knights, castles, magic. The kind of shit you weren't supposed to believe in. The kind of shit he never really could've, not even when he was a child. Maybe that was why he loved it, though. Something beautiful, something unreal. His entire life had been just the opposite. Ugly. Too real. Not without its good moments… but generally just too real.

                Maybe he should buy it, read it again. Maybe he'd understand now. He was almost eighteen, after all…

                "That some French book?" Pietro was suddenly at his elbow, peering curiously at the red leather-bound volume cradled in his hands.

                Jean-Paul rolled his eyes, the bout of nostalgia gone. "No. It's British. The author wrote in Norman French. Didn't you ever have to read _Le Morte D'Arthur _in school?"

                "Nope. Looksheavy."

                He shook his head, mildly amused, as usual when around his fast-living friend. "You know, Pietro, you have one of the fastest minds on the planet. You could be a genius._ If_ you could just hold still long enough to read a damn book."

                "Icanreadfasttoo!" The other speedster insisted, picking at some book or another disinterestedly. "I just don't like reading. What's it about?"

                Jean-Paul was impressed. It was a rare thing when Pietro took interest in something not directly related to him. "A lot of things. Mostly King Arthur."

                "The original superhero huh? That's why you like it."

                He smiled to himself. A superhero, Jean-Paul was not. But really, that wasn't so far off from the truth, for a reason to love the book. "Something like that. I just remember it making me happy, once."

                Pietro looked at him, sideways. Almost thoughtfully, really. 

                Jean-Paul avoided his eyes, suddenly extremely uncomfortable with the way Pietro was looking at him. Like he was about to ask something serious. He was not entirely convinced that he was ready to relate to his silver-haired friend on that level. Or that he ever would be, for that matter. He flipped through the journal he'd picked out as a gift for Jeanne-Marie, as if the blank pages held something he were very interested in. "Weren't you buying me coffee?"  

                "Oh yeah, that's what we're doing here," Pietro's mind returned to the business at hand with its usual alacrity. "Don'tgoanywherewithoutme."

                As he disappeared, Jean-Paul found himself sighing. He hoped the coffee would pick him up in mind as well as in body. He wasn't supposed to have it, of course, anymore than Quicksilver was. Caffeine and Northstar tended to make an explosive combination.  But they were bored. And two bored speedsters was even more painful than one. And he was feeling nostalgic lately. Maybe a little homesick. He'd been in Bayville for well over a month now, and still wasn't quite comfortable.

                Of course, he couldn't remember the last time he was entirely comfortable. It really shouldn't have been much of a surprise. 

                So he needed a little pick up. Even if it meant subjecting the world to himself and Pietro with coffee for blood.

                Johnny the Homicidal Maniac, collectors edition. Or Harry Potter. 

                Decisions, decisions.

                Wanda Maximoff sighed, shifting from foot to foot, impatient with herself, blocking an entire aisle in the Bayville Barnes and Noble. Like she owned the place.

                She didn't think of it like that really. She was just standing there.

                But she heard whispers beside her, and it suddenly came to her attention that there were three boys, in their BHS letter jackets, staring at her. 

                Waiting for her to move.

                She dropped her arms to her side, and turned to stare at them, blue eyes flashing.

                The boys stared back. But not at her eyes. Mainly at her midriff, which was bared by the scarlet top she wore. 

                And that pissed her off. Stupid fucking jock male chauvinistic pigs. Like she'd move for _them_. "Problem?"

                One of them, a large red head, leered at her. "No, no problem sweetheart."

                Sweetheart? God, she'd love to hex them. She considered it, and was starting to think it was a pretty good idea… 

                "Something wrong, sis?" Pietro was suddenly at her ear, out of nowhere.

                The boys looked at Pietro, then back at her. And seemed to balk marginally. But not that much. After all, he was awfully skinny. And they were… hulking.

                "Because if something's wrong, I'd be pretty upset." Jean-Paul was suddenly behind the pack of them. Less skinny, just as cocky.

                She rolled her eyes. Partners in crime, those two. 

                She'd thought having one speedster around all the time was annoying. Ah, to only have one. Having two around was damn near intolerable, at times. "Nothing's wrong," she snarled through gritted teeth. 

                Jean-Paul pushed through the pack of boys, and came to her, blocking their view. He smiled at her sweetly. Which always looked sarcastic on his face, for some reason. It didn't make much sense. He was incredibly pretty, really, in a sort of ethereal way, yet he always managed to look like he'd just bitten into a lemon. "Good, then let's go."

                She shrugged him off. "I don't have my book."

                The three boys were muttering now, getting restless. 

                Pietro stared them down, "Maybe you should leave now, huh guys?"

                Again, she rolled her eyes. "Jesus Christ Pietro, I can handle myself. Why don't you two go annoy someone else."

                "Sounds like you two are the problem," The dark haired jock took a step forward.

                She glared at him, "They're _not the problem. Why don't you go find another aisle to patrol, big boy."_

                He took another step forward, eyes narrowed.

                Jean-Paul put his arm around her again, and suddenly kissed her hard, on the mouth.

                Her stomach jumped. She meant to fight him off. She wanted to. She really did. But for some reason, she couldn't. 

                Pietro snickered evilly behind her, and JP pulled away, fairly quickly, and winked at her. Then he turned his attention to the other boys. "As if I would ever be a problem for _ma chere."_

                The large hulking mass of idiot stopped and stared again.

                Jean-Paul took the books from her hands and started guiding her out of the aisle. "Come, love, time to check out."

                Pietro followed, still snickering, and flipped the three jocks the bird. Fast. But not so fast they wouldn't catch it. 

                Wanda, still stunned, and a little senseless from the pressure of his lips on hers, let herself be led to the checkout, watched Jean-Paul buy both the books she'd been considering, as well as some journal he was carrying around, and followed the boys outside.

                And then, finally, she got angry. 

                "You assholes, what am I, some little defenseless girl who can't take care of herself?! I should hex you both into oblivion right now!"

                Jean-Paul handed her the bag of books, and accepted a Styrofoam cup from Pietro, then sipped at it thoughtfully. "It wasn't you we were worried about."

                She considered this. 

                Well, she _had_ been pretty annoyed with those guys for staring at her like that…

                "Yeah, Wanda, if you start throwing jocks around bookstores, we're all fucked, right?" Her brother piped up.

                She stared at the two of them, staring at her, side by side. Two damn GQ boys. Only Pietro looked like a brat. Jean-Paul looked like a cover model.

                They had a point. "You do it again, I kill you."

                They grinned at each other. And she got the distinct feeling they hadn't been worried about her, _or _those boys. They just thought it would be funny.

                "And you didn't have to kiss me."

                Jean-Paul shrugged, "You looked like you needed it."

                Pietro made her angry. But Jean-Paul always ended up disarming her completely. The guy was just so… goofy sometimes. And really, he shouldn't be. He was a snobby prick, in fact. But it was like he had this inner hell-child, and Pietro brought it out in him.

                Only it was cute, when Jean-Paul did it. 

                He hit the button on his keychain, and started walking to the car.

                And she rolled her eyes. She'd get them both back. Some day.

                As she climbed into the front of his BMW, something else suddenly occurred to her. Those cups they had… "Tell me you two aren't drinking coffee."

                "We're not," Pietro told her, from the back seat, almost dutifully.

                Jean-Paul nodded. 

                "You're lying."

                "We are."

                Jean-Paul nodded.

                "You are _not _hanging out at our house," she groaned.

                "We are," came again from the back seat.

                "I hate you, Pietro."

                "I know."

                "You too, JP."

                "Love you too. Why did you think I agreed to drive to the bookstore? To make you happy? Oh, how you disappoint, Wanda. I thought you knew me better than that."

                "You can't throw water balloons in the _house!"_

                Ah, but they were. Jean-Paul Beaubier and Pietro Maximoff were engaged in a very scientific experiment, at the moment, to decipher who could _throw _faster, and why, and if one could outrun the other's balloon in time to catch it before it splattered against the wall.

                Which had led to a lot of very colorful rubber bits all over the living room, an alarming number of puddles on the floor, the warping of the wallpaper at one end of the living room, and two slightly bruised, very wet mutant boys. 

                She watched as Jean-Paul reached down into the laundry basket, which was full of the dreaded things, pulled back, and his arm became a blur. Her brother, standing beside him at the time of release, became a streak of silver even as the blue balloon JP had released became a blue one. She blinked, and Pietro was against the wall, and he had blue rubber bits sticking out of his silver hair and water dripping down his face. "Aw fuck. Icandobetter!"

                Jean-Paul reached down again, grinning maniacally, and picked up a pink specimen, particularly large this time, and hefted it repeatedly in his hand. Pietro became a streak again and appeared next to him, bouncing up and down inhumanly fast, no longer dripping, but with a still partially-soaked shirt. 

                "Lance is going to flip when he sees this. We just wallpapered the place," she groused, crossing her arms over her chest, knowing it was entirely futile. Nothing short of hexing them would stop their adventure, and in order to hex them, she'd have to get them to hold still.

                And, if she was being honest… it was actually kind of amusing. If hopelessly juvenile and destructive and… well, Pietro. 

                "Lance can stuff it," Her brother was still bouncing. "Ready JP?"

                "Better run," he repeated his pulling back, then arm blurring action. This time, Pietro reappeared at the other end of the silver and pink streak that was him and the balloon, slammed into the wall hard, leaving a dent in it. But he had the thing in his hands, quivering like it was about to explode. He made a horribly irritated face at his friend, screwing his expression up like a little boy. "Youthrewthattoofast!"

                "You _said _you wanted it fast."

                "That hurt!" 

                "_Mon dieu_, stop the whining."

                This time, Pietro's arm became a flash, the balloon turned into a pink streak so quickly she barely even caught it, and Jean-Paul was standing there, dripping, pink bits attached to his sopping grey t-shirt. 

                The X-Man's piercing blue eyes flashed, a predatory grin lit up his face, and he dove for the laundry basket.

                Wanda wasn't entirely sure what happened next. It was a lot of Canadian blur and silver streak and more than a few water balloons missing their mark and soaking every piece of furniture, equipment, and inch of the wall of the living room. She took cover in the doorway and watched the flurry, feigning disgust, but actually mildly amused. 

                The door slammed, and slow, heavy footsteps were coming in their direction. Lance.

                Wanda rolled her eyes. This should be interesting. 

                He clomped up behind her, following the sound of wild laughter and splashes rather than heading straight upstairs, and stopped cold behind her. 

                "What the _fuck_?"

                All movement stopped in the living room stopped, suddenly. Jean-Paul was standing over her brother, hand poised to smash an orange water balloon onto the top of his head, legs splayed wide, as if he'd been caught in mid-stride. JP's shirt was ripped from the collar down a few inches, and Pietro's arm was inside of the shirt, a large bulge at the chest indicating that he held a water balloon and was about to break it against him so its contents would run down him into the most uncomfortable areas possible. Both of them, wide eyed, breathless, completely soaked and grinning like little kids. Frozen.

                "I cannot fucking _believe _this!" Lance roared. "How old _are _you two anyhow?"

                "Seventeen." From Jean-Paul, delivered simultaneously with Pietro's "Eighteen!" 

                The floor started to shake.

                Wanda looked over at Lance in alarm, but he was already heaving a huge breath, to try and calm himself.

                Pietro let go of his balloon, and Wanda watched as it dropped out of Jean-Paul's shirt with a wet splat onto his feet. 

                The two boys fell to the ground in a pile of giggles instantly, pushing and pulling at each other like a couple of little girls.

                "Who gave them coffee?" Lance growled. 

                She shook her head, "They bought it themselves."

                "Couldn't you have stopped this?"

                She gave him her patented Look of Death. "No."

                He sighed, suddenly deflated. "Clean it up, you two."

                "Fuck off."

                But they did clean it up. Not as if it took them long. The wallpaper was still a wreck, of course, and the Pietro-sized dent in the wall wasn't going anywhere. But as the two boys looked around at their handiwork, they couldn't help but feel a little proud. 

                "Ok, lets go outside and try it, so we can throw faster! The balloons will pop mid-air, we can time it!" Pietro was bouncing again, caffeine causing his systems to run at alarming speeds, even for him. And he really didn't care to control them. He could, if he tried. But why bother? That was probably the best thing about hanging out with JP—he could keep up with him. 

                That, and he liked to annoy Wanda almost as much as Pietro did. 

                Jean-Paul shrugged, as usual far more controlled, even when caffeinated. His power didn't work at all like Pietro's—it wasn't so much a control of super fast systems in his body, more an ability to speed the molecules in him at will. He could cause a vibration in himself, if he wanted. Pietro had to move really fast to do that. Jean-Paul did it on a cellular level. It meant that his mind didn't work quite as fast, but it was fast enough when he needed it to be. 

                But it didn't matter. As long as Pietro was faster, which he was, he and JP were ok. Best of friends for the past few weeks, in fact. 

                "No, no, let's find Todd and hit him with a few of these."

                And, the guy had a tendency to be heartlessly evil, of course. Which also made him fun. "I love the way you think, JP!" Pietro was already picking up the basket, containing the few remaining balloons. After that last all out war, there were only eight or nine left. "The frog could use a bath."

                "Or!" Jean-Paul suddenly held up a hand, "We could go find Scott and torment him with them! He'd never see us, he's so slow."

                Pietro dropped the balloons in his excitement over this idea, and they splattered at his feet with a magnificent "sploosh" sound. "Whoops," he raised his eyes to meet his friend's, feeling a bit sheepish. 

                "Or maybe no more balloons."

                "Yeah, something new!"

                "I need a new _shirt_. You nearly ripped it off."

                "Don't act like you didn't like it."

                "This is my favorite shirt, Pietro."

                "Fine, no more ripping your clothes."

                "Well, I didn't say that."

                Pietro just shook his head, amazed at how the guy could throw banter back and forth at an acceptable speed. He couldn't even be bothered to care that they were bantering about the fact that Jean-Paul was, without question, gay, and probably hung out with him, at least partially, because he liked looking at him. 

                In fact, Pietro kinda liked it, not being one to turn down any kind of ego boost. One more to the nearly endless list of those who had fallen for his stunning good looks and winning charm. "Alright, new shirt, then we party."

                Jean-Paul nodded, blurred, and was off toward the Xavier Institute in a flash.

                "Hey, let's go skiing!" Pietro was eyeing the pictures Jean-Paul kept on his desk, one in particular of him with a large, Nordic looking man in an oppressive looking parka, holding his gold medals.

                It was also pretty cool that JP was famous. Or had been. Made him a little jealous, but what the hell. Famous by association, right?

                JP rolled his eyes and continued digging furiously through his drawers, pulling out shirt after shirt, refolding it when he found it unacceptable, putting it back, and pulling out another on fast forward. "No way, forget it. I don't ski anymore."

                "Aw, c'mon, you could fly us there, we'll be back before dinner!" 

                "If I flew you anywhere that fast, your clothes would fall apart and the friction burns would leave you hideously scarred for the rest of your life. We'd have to go to the fucking Himalayas, it's the middle of July." He had folded four shirts by the time he finished the sentence.

                Someone knocked at the door before Pietro started to comment on that, and he ran to see who it was. 

                Scott Summers stuck his head in, since it was already open, and jerked his head in shock when Quicksilver appeared beside him. 

                "Afternoon, fearless leader," Jean-Paul said, dryly, his slow speech alarmingly at odds with the speed at which his hands were moving. "How can we help you?"

                He watched Jean-Paul's little folding act in wonder for a moment, shaking his head. "What the hell are you doing?"

                "Looking for a shirt. I ripped it," Pietro answered, quickly.

                Scott raised an eyebrow. "Right. So I guess you don't want to play mutant ball?"

                "We're going skiing."

                "We are _not_," Jean-Paul insisted, finally pulling out a shirt that looked exactly like the one he already had on. "There, that's better." He blurred, a grey bundle flew through the air, and when he was visible again, he had the new shirt on. 

                The old one had landed on Pietro's head, while his back was turned.

                Quicksilver sighed. What a shit. 

                "And Pietro is a cheater, so he's not allowed to play mutant ball."

                He pulled the shirt off his head and threw it back, so fast it looked like a grey blur between the two of them. "Idont'cheat."

                Scott looked from one to the other, suspiciously. "Someone gave you guys coffee, didn't they?"

                They nodded, simultaneously.

                He shook his head, and left immediately. "Don't make a mess!"

                "I wouldn't get friction burns, you idiot, I'm faster than you anyhow, my body is just as tough. And my costume is made of the same unstable molecules yours is." Pietro suddenly jumped back to where they had been, and began fiddling with Jean-Paul's closet, looking for something to wear on his dates tonight. JP was a little bigger in the chest and arms, but their shoulders were just about the same. And he had great clothes.

                "You're forcing me to tell you no, Pietro."

                "Yes."

                "I tried to give you an out, but now I have to just come out and say it. No."

                "Yes."

                "No."

                "Yes."

                "No."

                This went on, repeated roughly twenty times in a very condensed period of time. 

                "Fine no skiing," Pietro finally sighed. "Can I borrow this?"

                "Last time you borrowed my clothes, you destroyed them."

                "Not my fault she spilled beer on me. Anyhow, who the hell has dry clean only clothes?"

                "Fine, take it, but if it comes back smelling like alcohol I'll destroy you."

                "I'm shaking in my boots, JP. Ok, ok what are we doing now?"

                Honestly, after that, he _did feel a little better._

                When he was busy being ridiculous with Pietro, Jean-Paul preferred to be at the Brotherhood house. It was usually a mess, but the lack of scowling adults there made it much easier for them to unleash their pent up energy. 

                And to make a mess.

                And to irritate the shit out of people.

                Jean-Paul was usually a very sober guy. All of his teammates were shocked when they saw the way he behaved around the other speedster. Everyone but Jeanne-Marie and Rogue, who both knew not only of his tendency toward wicked humor, but also of his minor crush on the other boy. He didn't plan on acting on it, of course. Pietro was hopelessly obsessed with women, after all. 

                Correction—he liked to _pretend he hopelessly obsessed with women. Jean-Paul had his own theories on his friend's sexuality. Either way, if Pietro wasn't straight, he obviously had no idea, or was in heavy denial. And Jean-Paul wasn't about to deal with that mess, just because he thought the guy was hot. He had other priorities. Mainly, himself and his sister, and not necessarily in that order._

                Besides, he'd probably have to hurt Pietro if he was actually _obligated _to hang out with him by some kind of relationship issue. Pietro could lay on a guilt trip like nobody's business—he'd seen him hand a few classic ones to Wanda. And anyone who could guilt Wanda Maximoff into giving them her way, against her initial will, had to be pretty damn good. Jean-Paul definitely didn't need that kind of baggage.

                No, he'd much rather fuck around, and look at him. That's pretty much what Pietro was good at, after all. Fucking around and looking good.

                And he was very good at both, so Jean-Paul had nothing to complain about. 

                As to why Pietro hung around with him so much, Jean-Paul figured there were a few good reasons. For one, his vanity. Upon first meeting him, he'd made it perfectly clear that he thought the silver-haired boy was attractive. It would've been hard for Pietro to miss, what with him coming right out and kissing him. Granted, it was a bit of a joke, engineered to make the Brotherhood speedster panic, a sort of head game, really. But Pietro's lack of protestation, and lately his outright flirtatious behavior, on occasion, proved that the move had ended up scoring Jean-Paul ego booster points. 

                The second thing was he was rich, famous, and good-looking. Pietro loved all three of those qualities in people, and wanted them for himself.

                The third thing was Jean-Paul could tolerate the boy. Most people spending time around Quicksilver were worn out within a half hour. It was draining, to say the least. He rarely held still for as much as an hour at a time, and if he managed that, it was likely because he was watching television, and his mind was racing. 

                But the constant motion and speed of Pietro's life did not bother Jean-Paul in the least. For one, he had the capability to see things that were too fast for most others—things like Pietro. While he couldn't think nearly as fast as the older boy, he was much faster than the average human, or mutant for that matter. He had to be, or the speeds at which he could move himself would surely have been the death of him. His reaction time was not nearly that of Quicksilver's, but it was fast enough that it kept his friend entertained. 

                And that was really what it was, he figured—Pietro found him entertaining. After all, he was always complaining about no one being able to keep up with him. And Jean-Paul most definitely could. 

                It also helped Jean-Paul's affection for the other boy, however, that he could go home fully worn out at the end of a day with him, and sleep. Sometimes, his body wasn't ready, it got so hyped up. He was good at making himself look calm on the outside, when it happened. But spending a few hours with Pietro tended to take the edge off of it, and leave him sleeping like a baby. 

                At the moment, however, Pietro was anything but fast. He was sprawled out on the couch, legs stretched over Jean-Paul's lap with his usual blatant disregard for personal space, having come down from their caffeine high about five minutes ago. Jean-Paul, for his part, was slumped down into the cushions, staring at the TV without really seeing it at all. After the water balloons and his quick change of clothes, they'd proceeded to attempt a few other experiments. Most notably, one that had to do with the speed of fire along a thin track of oil, and one attempting to discover  if one swipe of air from one of them running past could extinguish a large pool of burning engine oil. 

                Pietro had ended up needing a change too, after that one. His pants had caught fire.

                Of course, as soon as he noticed, he sped up and put the flame out instantly, but it was, alas, too late for his fine pair of khakis. A shame too. He looked good in that pair, really.

                And now… "Man, we just crashed hard."

                Jean-Paul nodded his assent, "That we did, _mon ami."_

                "This is my favorite thing about coffee, I think. The like… hour after where I don't have to be in control."

                Jean-Paul turned to look at the other boy, who was staring up at the ceiling, blinking lazily. 

                Well, lazily for Pietro.

                "I didn't know it was hard for you."

                "It's not," Pietro said, quickly. "Not really, I mean. It gets hard after awhile I guess. Sometimes  I just wish I could get tired."

                He nodded, "Know the feeling." But not really. Must've been that much harder for Pietro. Jean-Paul could turn his powers on, and didn't need to turn them off. Pietro's systems were constantly trying to go faster, and he was always having to slow them down. Quite a difference, really.

                No matter what Quicksilver said, Northstar would take his own powers, any day. 

                "I'm hungry," Pietro whined suddenly.

                "I'm always hungry." Oh the joys of the fast metabolism.

                "Let's go eat."

                Jean-Paul looked at the clock on the wall. "You have fifteen minutes before you're supposed to pick up Ashley."

                Pietro made a face. "Oh man… I finally calm down, and I gotta go do this."

                The dark haired boy rolled his eyes, "Don't be ridiculous. Maybe you can settle for one girl tonight, this way?"

                "We should do this more often," Pietro sat up, at a speed that was startlingly human, and pushed himself off the couch.

                "Maybe next time, we skip the caffeine and go straight to the crash."

                Pietro seemed to be considering this. "How's that work?"

                "I have my sources."

                "Sounds good," he shrugged.

                Jean-Paul stood, "Later, Pietro."

                "Bye, JP."

                He neared the door, and Pietro turned to go up the stairs. "Good night Wanda!"

                "I hate you, Jean-Paul!" Came from upstairs.

                "Love you too, _cheri_!" Then he looked at Pietro, who had stopped halfway up the stairs to snicker evilly. "She loves me, you know."

                "Oh definitely."


	2. The Merry Pranksters

**The Merry Pranksters**

_Wherein Jeanne-Marie and Bobby decide to have some fun._

_Telltale Quote: We're gonna make Scott into a fairy—Bobby Drake_

From the Diary of Jeanne-Marie Beaubier, July 16

_Dear Diary,_

_                The Professor told me I should write things down, a record of my thoughts and actions every day. He said it would be good for me, to help me understand myself. Also, to help me practice my English. I know I can speak well, but not like the American students. Not even like my brother. But writing is easier, since I have time to think things through. Perhaps he's right, and it will help my vocabulary. _

_                Jean-Paul brought this for me from the bookstore the day the Professor suggested it. This little book, with all its blank pages. Luckily for me, he waited until his caffeine high had worn off to bring it home to me. And he managed to get Pietro off of him, somehow. _

_                Caffeine, Jean-Paul, and Pietro are three things that should never be spoken of in the same sentence, let alone exist in the same room. It was nice of him to spare me. _

_                Today was… interesting. Roberto wanted to show me how to play soccer—he was very good at it at home in __Brazil__, he said. But the ball was out of air. I think the word is "deflated." He looked angry, but pretended it didn't matter, and we went for a walk instead._

_                I decided it would be a bad idea to tell him that the ball looked burnt on the bottom side. Like the electrical burns on the walls at Madame's. The sun was awfully bright today, and I wouldn't like to see Ray getting kicked into it, even if I would like to see 'Berto play his football. I think it must be like dancing or flying, for me, soccer for Roberto. Something that makes him feel free. I'd like to see him like that. Sometimes, he seems so dramatic. Like every little thing that happens in life is the end of the world. I would like to see him playing for no reason. Just because he loves to do it._

_                I found Ray and Bobby laughing later, after the walk with 'Berto. When I asked them what was so funny, they stopped laughing right away. Later, I found Bobby alone, and convinced him to tell me the truth, that the two of them had found the ball, and Ray had ruined it, just to upset Roberto. _

_                I'm still not sure if I want to let Ray know how angry it made me. He is my friend, but sometimes he's so reckless with other people. Doesn't care how they're feeling, just tries to show off and have fun. It's upsetting. Bobby, on the other hand, could never be cruel. He is such a sweet boy, even if he plays some very wicked jokes. His jokes usually end up making people laugh, though, not making them sad.  I'm thinking of asking him to teach me some, maybe to play on Scott, who is looking sadder and sadder as the time gets closer for my sweet Jeanne to leave him. Or my brother, who is always scowling unless he is causing some trouble with Pietro, or making jokes with Rogue. It makes him look so much older when he's so serious. I think a good practical joke would be good for both of those boys, and Bobby is probably the one to help me._

_                I guess I shouldn't say anything about the soccer ball, or it might get Bobby in trouble. I will keep quiet, but I'm going to get a new ball, and keep it in my room, just for Roberto. I'll ask Jean-Paul about it._

_                Kitty is here now. We are supposed to be going to the mall, so I will come back to this tomorrow._

                Bobby Drake was feeling very lucky.

                Of course, he usually felt lucky. And then something bad usually happened.

                Which only went to show, he supposed, that he really wasn't very lucky at all.

                But still, he was feeling lucky. He'd been positive that after he spilled the beans to Jeanne-Marie the night before, about Ray and the soccer ball, he'd have a very pissed off, very black, very on-fire Roberto DaCosta on his ass in no time. And then, immediately following, a very pissed off, very crackling, very ruthless Ray Crisp. The order only depended on who survived the epic battle they would engage in, sometime before trying to kill him.

                With his luck, he figured he'd be getting the loser first, and the winner would come after him later. It would definitely be too much to ask that the loser would come second, and therefore, not at all. Definitely too much. 

                But now, he was feeling pretty good. Jeanne-Marie obviously hadn't said anything to either of them, and had proven herself a worthy confidante. Not to mention pretty damn good at extracting a guy's secrets. 

                Girls were so scary sometimes. The way batting their eyelashes honestly made him think he'd be willing to sell his left arm to buy them an ice cream cone, if they asked, was pretty freakish.

                Not that he couldn't just figure out how to make one, probably.  Ice cream. That's what he should be doing with all this ice. What more noble cause for ice was there than ice cream? 

                And why the hell would he think of selling his left arm for it? That was kinda random…

                Maybe Amara was right. Sometimes, Bobby was just a little weird.

                He sat on the front lawn, letting the sun try and warm him up. Two years ago, when his powers had started turning on, he remembered being cold all the time. Standing in the shower for hours, until the water heater gave out. Trying to hide it from his parents, thinking he was probably going to die from whatever it was that was wrong with him, and not wanting to scare them.

                Heh. Yeah, he was a weird kid, alright. 

                Seemed funny now, after the last year at the Institute. A year where he'd learned to control his powers so well, he'd actually been promoted to a real member of the X-Men. He was now the youngest member, in fact, a year younger than Kitty, who he loved to watch—

                Er. Who he thought of as a great influence.  

                Right.

                Bobby blinked, as a patch of shade fell over him. Surprised, since it had been clear all day, he looked straight up to check for clouds.

                And found Aurora, smiling down at him, suspended in mid air. 

                He grinned at her as she landed before him on the grass, light as a feather, and came to sit next to him. Silent, but smiling.

                "What's up JM?" He asked, leaning over a bit so that his shoulder dug into her.

                Of the full-fledged X-Men, Jeanne-Marie was always the coolest toward the New Mutants. Not that the others were mean, or anything, but JM treated them just like she treated the X-Men, and Bobby liked that. Kitty, Kurt, Scott, JP, everyone else seemed to treat them all like they were just kids, even though they were really only a year or two older, mostly. But JM was even dating one of them, one who was, he was proud to note, three months younger than Bobby himself. He liked that in her. That she didn't seem to care. 

                He didn't either. Not really. Sure, it was great to be an X-Man. But his friends were really Amara, Ray, Sam, 'Berto… and some of the kids who'd left, really. Hell, even Jamie, even if he was like an annoying little brother.

                Bobby was an only child. A little brother was actually kind of welcome, really. 

                Even if he tended to turn into ten or twenty little brothers on accident, at times.

                Jeanne-Marie leaned back against him, returning his gesture, and smiled over at him sweetly. "I want to learn how to play practical jokes."

                Bobby raised an eyebrow, wondering if this was some kind of trap. "What for?"

                "To cheer people up," she shrugged. "I don't like seeing these boys like this. They're always so dramatic."

                This made him laugh. Ok, so maybe his laugh was a bit of a giggle. He preferred to think of it as a chortle, or a chuckle, however. Giggling was definitely not for X-Men. "Yeah, they are. But hell, JM, we're teenagers. What are teenagers without a little angst?"

                She raised an eyebrow at him, her brother's patented Vulcan look. "I have enough angst."

                Hell yes she did. But that was another story entirely… "Seriously, you wanna do this?" 

                She nodded, now looking up at him with those ridiculously blue eyes, through those gorgeous black eyelashes. "If nothing else, Bobby, we can have time to make better friends, _non?"_

                Bobby swallowed hard. 

                Damn girls. Always talking him into things.

                "I dunno, JM, I have a bad feeling about this…"

                She put a hand on his shoulder, and leaned over him, around the corner. Watching her brother's door. "Oh, it will be funny! You worry too much."

                "He's your brother, he won't kill _you. I'm taking my life in my hands here."_

                Silly boy. 

                Well, in actuality, he may have had a point. Jean-Paul was notoriously grouchy. And he was even worse in the morning, before he'd had a chance to wake up properly. But he'd been in the shower, when they'd done it, so really, he should be nice and awake now…

                But she could always fly Bobby away if he got too angry, after all.

                She patted his shoulder gently, "Don't worry, Bobby, I'll save you."

                He looked up at her, and grinned, "My hero."

                She giggled, but stopped immediately when she saw Jean-Paul's doorknob turning.

                "Oh! He must've found it!"

                "Maybe we shouldn't have used snow, JM…"

                But Jean-Paul was suddenly in the hallway, in full uniform… except for his feet, which were bare. He looked from side to side, eyes narrowed, a look of pure malice on his face. Tossing a snowball up and down in one hand.

                Jeanne-Marie giggled at the look on his face. Oh, now _that _was funny. 

                Jean-Paul looked straight at them.

                "Shit!" Bobby jumped up, and tried to pull her down the hall, but she was laughing far too hard to go along with it. She tripped over one of his feet, and ended up tangled on the floor with him. 

                "Drake!" She heard her brother roar around the corner.

                Bobby was squirming, trying to disentangle one of his arms and one of his legs from hers, but finding the situation rather hopeless, as she couldn't stop laughing long enough to be helpful. "Come on! We gotta go, JM, get up!"

                He managed to stand, but was immediately hit in the back of the head by a snowball flying at ridiculous speeds. Immediately following, he was tackled from behind, and ended up flat on his back.

                With Northstar sitting on his chest, holding his arms down over his head, and grinning down at him evilly. The look she'd previously thought was malicious now seemed almost… amused. Very amused, in fact. 

                Not so much by the snow, most likely. Probably by what he was planning on doing to poor Bobby.

                Jeanne-Marie tried to stand up and pull him off, but was still laughing too hard to be entirely effective. 

                "I found snow in my boots," Her brother hissed, totally ignoring her efforts to rescue their teammate from him. "Now where, oh where, would one find snow in July? Any ideas, _Iceman?"_

                Bobby squirmed and kicked, but Jean-Paul clearly wasn't going anywhere. "I don't know, _Northstar_, ask your sister!" He squeaked.

                Jeanne-Marie had made it to her brother by this time, and fell on him, grabbed at his arms and tried to pull him to the ground, laughing so hard it was starting to hurt. "Jean-Paul…," she breathed, "your face!"

                But Jean-Paul was still not moving, and he still wore that evil grin. "Well, if you won't tell me, looks like I'll have to torture it out of you." And he took one hand, held Bobby down with the other still, and started jabbing his finger into Bobby's chest ruthlessly, just below his collar bone.

                Bobby screamed and laughed at once, twisting madly now, face turning pink. "Ahhh!! Ok, ok, I give, I did it!"

                Jeanne-Marie finally succeeded in pulling her brother off of the smaller boy then, and they fell backwards, leaving Bobby breathless and wide-eyed on the ground.

                And Scott came around the corner. 

                The three of them, on the floor, panting and laughing, looked up at him. 

                "Morning, Slim," Bobby breathed, obviously fighting for air. 

                Scott just shook his head. "I don't want to know. See you guys at breakfast," and he politely stepped over Jean-Paul's legs and continued on his way down the hall.

                "What the hell were you doing to me?!" Bobby was laughing again, leaning against the wall like he'd just run a marathon.

                "Dot-dots," Jean-Paul, stood back up now, pointing a finger at him menacingly, "And there's more where that came from, if I find anymore snow anywhere."

                But, Jeanne-Marie was happy to note, he was still breathless and grinning like a maniacal elf. Looking half his age, and happy. 

                And then, he turned to her. "You're to blame, are you not?"

                She smiled sweetly. 

                He dove for her, next, but she was already halfway down the hall. 

                "Ok, that was just a warm up," Bobby was telling her, laying out his battle plan before her. "The old school surprise in someone's shoes. It also works with sock drawers, closets, medicine cabinets, and underwear."

                "Underwear?"

                He nodded, enthusiastically, "Oh hell yes. You thought JP's expression was good, imagine it if we'd somehow gotten snow into his shorts."

                Now that, she had to admit, sounded like a very bad idea. She shook her head, "I'd rather not."

                "Good point. Anyhow, that wasn't too bad. The look on his face was priceless, anyhow."

                She laughed again, remembering it. Just what she was going for, even if he complained about cold feet for the rest of the morning. He hadn't even been angry, he just laughed and chased her around the house for about fifteen minutes, after torturing Bobby only minimally. And he'd been smiling. 

                And sweet Lord, it had been a laugh. She'd have to hang out with Iceman a little more often. 

                "But that's small time. I figured we'd better go easy on him, since he's liable to kill someone if he's in a bad mood. On someone like Scott, we can have a lot more fun. And survive. Did you bring the stuff?"

                She nodded affirmative, and pulled the tube out of her pocket that he had requested she bring to this little meeting. The glitter from Amara's make-up case. Bobby had suggested that she just take it, but she'd asked the younger girl nicely instead. It was pretty, an iridescent sort of glitter meant to stick to your cheeks and shoulders when going out—definitely something only Amara would have around this house. 

                As she handed it over, Bobby's eyes began to glow. He was so cute when he got excited about these things. This had most definitely been a great idea. "But what are you going to do with it?"

                "We're gonna make Scott into a fairy."

                She didn't even want to _imagine what Roberto, or her brother for that matter, would say if they saw her like this—with her legs wrapped around Bobby Drake's neck. _

                "Ok, ready JM?" Her partner in crime whispered. 

                "Mmhm," she breathed, in the interest of keeping the hallway as silent as it was. The Institute, she had to admit, was quite disturbingly still at night, considering the amount of bouncing, yelling, and exploding that went on around the place during the daylight hours. And with none of the lights on but the small nightlights in the halls, the big house felt very empty. It occurred to her that if not for Bobby's presence, she might've been a little uncomfortable with it. 

                Too much quiet was never a good thing, in her experience. Reminded her too much of being in solitary confinement at Madame's. Days without seeing another face, hearing another voice. Sometimes without food…

                She shivered, a bit violently, as Bobby stood up straight and raised her up, as she was sitting on his shoulders. 

                "You ok?" He hissed from below.

                She patted him on the head with her free hand once before using it to unscrew the glitter tube. She didn't want to get any in his hair. Bobby had assured her that if she did, it wouldn't be coming off any time soon. Which, he also assured her, was what made this so brilliant. "_Oui. Don't worry, I will be fast."_

                Of course, she could've just levitated herself up to do this. 

                But for some reason, this had simply seemed like more fun. After all, Bobby was awfully cute, in that shoulders-too-big-for-his-lanky-body brown-puppy-dog-eyes way. And having a boyfriend didn't mean she was blind. What girl _wouldn't want to get close to him? Berto was pretty good about that kind of thing usually... _

                At least, since their first fight, which happened to be about him flirting with Amara constantly, he had been. Which suited her just fine, because it meant that now they had an "understanding." Flirting is one thing, anything else is another. The former, acceptable. The latter a definitely punishable offense.

                She wondered if this counted as the latter. Probably not, of course, but it was awfully… close. 

                Right. The plan.

                She reached down and handed Bobby the glitter, and he passed her up a piece of paper with masking tape at both ends, running longwise across the top and bottom of the paper. Carefully, chewing on her bottom lip, she taped the paper so that it was curving outwards, and the top of it was taped to the underside of Scott's doorframe, and the bottom of it to the top inside of his door. It wasn't the most secure tape job, as she really didn't have room to get her fingers into the cracks to make certain, but Bobby had assured her it wouldn't take much.

                She held out her hand for the glitter again and he passed it back up. 

                "Watch the hair," he half-whispered, half-squeaked at her. 

                She tried not to giggle too loudly as she cautiously emptied half of the contents of the tube of loose sparkles into the outward curve of the paper. This way, when Scott opened the door, the paper would open up over his head, and dump its contents all over him. 

                It was getting very hard not to giggle.

                "What are you guys doing?"

                That voice was _not _Bobby's!

                Iceman jumped underneath her in alarm at the sound of the intruder, nearly sending the glitter flying, but she levitated at the last moment and saved both the tube and herself. Instead, he fell alone beneath her, slamming into the other boy who was standing there in his pajamas…

                Who quickly turned to five other boys in their pajamas upon impact. 

                Who all chorused a very loud "_Ow__!" as they thudded to the ground loudly, tangled up in Bobby. _

                "Shhh," Jeanne-Marie hushed them, very near to a fit of giggles now. Every time she saw Jamie accidentally multiply himself, it sent her into hysterics. Mostly because it was usually in some sort of hopelessly awkward, adorable situation like this one. "Quiet, boys, you'll wake—,"

                But it was too late. Bobby and the Jamies froze on the ground as she touched down, still clutching the glitter. 

                "Footsteps!" Bobby hissed, jumping to his feet. He grabbed two very confused, bleary eyed Jamies and hauled them up, then started working on another one who was somehow still entangled in his legs. "Get up, all of you, we gotta go!"

                Jeanne-Marie, now giggling outright and attempting to stifle it, grabbed a sleepy Jamie as well and pulled him up to his feet. By the time she accomplished that, the frantic Iceman had pulled up the rest of them, and the footsteps were getting ominously near to the door, so the seven of them took off running. Between Aurora laughing, Bobby squeaking, and Jamie panting, they might as well have been a herd of elephants. 

                Their would-be pursuer never made it into the hallway, however, judging from the sound of things. A doorknob turning, paper ripping, and a very loud, "What the _hell_?!" 

                Bobby managed to quietly close his door, not so very far from Cyclops', before they started giggling aloud, filling Jamie in on the wonderful laugh he'd very nearly turned into a bad situation 

From the Diary of Jeanne-Marie Beaubier, July 17

_Dear Diary,_

_                Scott looked beautiful today. _

_                He came down for breakfast late, for the first time since I've been here, glaring around behind those red shades of his. And everyone immediately started laughing aloud. Amara shot me a clever look from the other side of the table, and I winked back to say thank you again. I never told her what it was I needed the glitter for._

_                And really, Scott does resemble some sort of fey creature, with his hair all sparkling like that. _

_                Although it makes it a bit difficult to take him seriously when he's giving orders in the Danger Room. Particularly with Jean-Paul asking him how it feels to be the fairy, for once. By the end of the session this morning, everyone, including "fearless leader," was nearly in tears from laughing. _

_                I'm sure he suspects Bobby, since he nearly lost his cool when Scott was commenting on how it sounded like there had been about ten people outside his door last night. I was just thankful that Jamie wasn't there—he definitely would have giggled. I managed to hide behind Rogue and Jean-Paul, and pretend I was adjusting my boot straps. Luckily. If I looked Bobby in the eye, we would've been caught for certain. _

_                Jean-Paul was still in a good mood too. It's funny, Bobby said to me that he didn't expect the jokes to have the effect I said they would. At least not on my brother. It surprised me a little, because I think, after spending so much time with him these two days, that he is very smart about people. Maybe my brother is just very hard to know. I think he makes himself that way. Bobby usually reads everyone well though,  and he cares about them a lot. He doesn't know how to get close, so he makes them laugh. And it works for him. It's very charming, and sweet, and I hope he never changes. _

_                Children like that don't come from places like Madame's. Or from pasts like my brother's. I don't know if his family is perfect, but I think they must be close, to have raised him to be the way he is. _

_                Sometimes, I wonder if we would have been that way, me and Jean-Paul, if our parents had lived. Would I be so scared one minute, so bold the next, as they say I am? Would I be so confused? Would Jean-Paul be so angry and closed up? Would he be so confused?_

_                It makes me sad. And it makes me want to be like Bobby Drake. I know he isn't perfect, but there is no such thing as perfect. He's genuine. And he's free. Jean-Paul says he's "insecure and hopeless," but I don't know. I think he's beautiful, and free. That's really all I think any of us ever need, as kids. And I don't know how to be free, not without becoming someone else. And I don't think my brother does either. Not really. _

                _So I guess that's why I love Bobby. _

_                Perhaps I should find the reason to love everyone here. That could keep me busy._

_                Time for bed. I'm tired from the work outs today, and from laughing. Nice to go to bed without being afraid though. Really nice.**[1]** _

  


* * *

[1] AN: More random fun from the Xavier Institute. (Don't worry, they won't _all _be so happy. They're teens, they have angst, dammit!) 

_SilverCaladan_—Oh yes. JTHM makes me happeeee. Or… well something anyhow, but it's GOOD. Wonder fluff ahoy!

_Risty_—Thank you, and very sweet of you to review! I figure a lot of places have skiing in July, but JP was being difficult. And I love the Himalayas. I figure you guys have _everything _in New Zealand, but that's just because I think of it as Middle Earth ;) 

_The Rogue Witch_—Random as they get! Thanks for reading!

_Akuma_—Definitely dealing with JM as much as JP in this little thing. Got about 13 or so stories planned, half of which, at least, deal with JM, and if JP turns up, it's pretty much in a "supporting actor" role, like in this one. I adore her, and miss her *sniff*

_Fata Morgana_—Again, you're a dear to review so sincerely! As for the skiing at 13 thing, I'm quoting Marvel Fanfare 28 on that one. I can scan the page and send it to you, but it's pretty clear that he was a champ before his powers manifested. And it's non-specific about what kind of champ. Personally, I wasn't bothered, so I just assumed everyone else would clam up and take it like I did ;) And yeah, Raymonde as skiing instructor. Having JP join the team so young, there just isn't time for all the FLQ stuff. Had to choose my battles. But he needs to be there—someone had to help the poor kid out. As for my French spelling, hell if I know. I'll fix it immediately, thanks darling. Forgetting my international audience, Nordic is the generic term for pretty, blonde, blue eyed round these parts of America. Don't forget, I'm from Appalachia! If you feel offended, I'm sorry! But that's what we'd say round here. As for the powers, I mostly made it up, but definitely took my ideas from various sources. My idea of JP's power comes from this old comic, something like Marvel Encyclopedia or something, from the 80s. I forget what it is now, but my boyfriend's brother has it, and it's dead cool. It came in different issues, looked like he just bought one each month at the store. First issue was like Alpha-Blob, etc, etc.  Also a few places round the web list it. Same for Quickie, though they're rarely as specific about Pietro's as they are about JP's. I definitely took liberties with Quicksilver, but yeah, that's pretty much the way I've heard it told. You're such a sweetie to review. 

_Ima_- More on the way, and thanks for reading! Glad you're finding it enjoyable. I know it is for me, but hard to tell what's actually fit for public consumption. The encouragement means a lot to me. 

And again, thanks to _Sue for the beta! You = the big win._


	3. Temper Temper

**Temper Temper **

_Wherein Pietro is mocked, and finally pisses Jean-Paul off._

_Telltale Quote: I wonder when they're gonna get it over with and just make out. –Wanda Maximoff_

                "Where are the Pop-Tarts, yo?"

                Pietro narrowed his eyes at Toad, who was crouched on top of the counter. Disgusting. "Todd, you're ruining my breakfast." 

                "Chill it, Quickie, just tell me where the Pop-Tarts are," The younger boy turned to face him now, yellow eyes wide and expectant.

                Pietro pushed away his plate, which had been piled high with five eggs, toast, and countless strips of bacon only a moment ago. It was now seriously depleted, but not finished. He'd lost his appetite. "Jean-Paul and I ate them."

                As he said this, Freddy came lumbering into the kitchen, and went straight for the refrigerator. 

                "Man, you guys ate the whole _box?" Toad whined, hopping down from the counter and climbing onto a chair across from Pietro like… well, like a frog would, really._

                The speedster crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair, sticking his nose in the air as he did so. "Hey, it's hard, having a metabolism like we do. His is almost as fast as mine."

                "Man, screw your metabolism. I want a Pop-Tart," the younger boy pouted, leaning one elbow on the table and supporting his head with his hand, looking very defeated. 

                "Hey, where's all the chocolate milk?" Freddy was moaning now.

                Pietro rolled his eyes, "We drank it."

                Lance came into the kitchen now, smiling happily. Pietro wondered, offhand, what the hell would cause that. Maybe he'd finally gotten the Kitty-cat to give it up? "Who drank what?" He was headed to the cupboard that Toad had been poking in.

                "Jean-Paul and Pietro drank my chocolate milk," Freddy turned to shoot Quicksilver an evil glare… or his best attempt at one, anyhow. Pietro was somehow unimpressed.

                "And they ate all the Pop-Tarts," Todd threw in, narrowing his eyes.

                "Whatever you guys," Lance waved them off, "We can go to the store later." 

                He paused for a moment then, whole Toad stuck his long tongue out at Pietro, just a little, but enough to make the speedster writhe with disgust.  

                "Hey… hey who ate my…," When Lance turned back around, there was death in his dark eyes. "Pietro… tell me you didn't eat those Jellybeans."

                Pietro shook his head, "Nope."

                Lance glared around, viciously. 

                "We used them for an experiment," Pietro elaborated. Had been a good one too. Turns out, the little bastards do a lot of damage, when used as high speed projectiles. He had a few bruises to prove it. So did Jean-Paul, in fact.

                "Those were _supposed _to be for _Kitty_," Lance said through clenched teeth. "It's her _birthday _in a few days."

                "Not too smart, Alvers, leaving them in the cabinet." He didn't bother adding in that it was also the Beaubier twins' birthday this weekend. He already had the perfect present and everything. But he'd been warned not to advertise. 

                The ground started to shake, and Avalanche was breathing rather hard.

                Quickly, Pietro amended his statement, "I'll get more at the store!"

                Lance took a deep breath now, and the tremors stopped. "Yeah, damn right you will." His teeth still didn't want to come unclenched apparently. 

                "Man," Todd was shaking his head, "Why you and your boyfriend gotta run around this place like you own it, yo?"

                Pietro felt a flash of anger, and his head snapped around to face the boy across the table from him again. "Did you just call him my _boyfriend_?"

                Todd grinned, with green teeth in full force. "Just sayin'."

                "Yeah, Pietro," Freddy threw in, before Quicksilver could decide what to do about Toad's obvious death-wish. "He is, isn't he? Can hardly pull you two off of each other. When you gonna move into the Institute with him and start a family?"

                Pietro glanced sideways at Blob now, not even bothering to turn his head, an expression of extreme hatred consuming his sharp features. He did _not _like where this was going. It wasn't so much the gay jokes. That, he could pretty much handle. Well, mostly. It was more the idea that they would dare to gang up on him. "Maybe we're just trying to help you go on a diet, Blob. You're taking up too much space in the house. Consider it a gift."

                "You're even giving joint presents now," Lance shook his head, as if in deep thought, "that's a big step, Pietro."

                Ok, _now_ it was starting to bother him. He felt his face beginning to flush. "You guys don't know _what _the fuck you're talking about," he snarled, prepared to jump the next person who said a goddamn _word _about him.

                "Hey man, I'm just sayin'. Birds of a feather, and all that," Todd was still grinning.

                In a flash, he was over the table, and had Toad in a headlock.

                Not the best idea, as he discovered. The boy's greasy hair was giving off a faint, but still unpleasant sort of odor. And his insect breath was out in full force this morning, apparently. He hung onto him anyhow, as the smaller boy tried to twist and turn out of his grip. "Wanna take it back, slime ball?" He growled down at him.

                "Alright, alright, lemme go! I take it back!"

                Pietro let up, despite a desire to choke the life out of the wiry mutant. If he hadn't wanted to get away from Toad's objectionable personal space so badly, he might've done just that. He sped up again, and returned to his seat, crossing his arms over his chest again, as if he'd never been gone.

                There. Let them talk shit now. Losers.

                Lance shook his head, now ponderously chewing on a granola bar. "You know, it's real sweet of you to defend your boyfriend like that. I'd totally do that for Kitty."

                Half shock, half rage, Pietro just stared at him. What the hell was going on here? Did they know who he _was?_

                Todd was rubbing at his neck, as if it'd gotten bent the wrong way. "Oh man, I must've really pissed you off, huh?"

                "You shouldn't talk like that about Jean-Paul. Would you talk like that about Kitty?" Freddy was shaking his head.

                Normally, Pietro would've been impressed that he managed to put together such a dig, even if it wasn't a really great one. But since it was aimed at him, he was just really fucking irritated. He stood, too angry to know which of them to attack next, and not exactly certain he wanted to defend himself on the issue anymore, as it only seemed to get him into more trouble. "This is bullshit. I'm outta here."

                "Don't forget my goddamn jellybeans." 

                Pietro's face scrunched up, for just a second, and then he was gone.

                Pietro was running. Fast. So fast, in fact, he was five miles out of Bayville already. And he'd only just left, really.

                He had to run, when he felt like this. Was the only way he could think straight. Couldn't be bothered to try to keep his systems running at "normal," slow levels. Just needed to let it go. To run. Till he was tired enough that his body wasn't pushing at him. Was the only time he could feel free.

                Not that he really needed to be thinking right now. 

                It was totally unfair. The jokes. 

                His _boyfriend_?

                Ok, sure, he flirted on occasion. But it was all in fun. And anyhow, it was flattering. Good looking, rich, funny guy like Jean-Paul Beaubier takes an interest. Maybe he didn't reciprocate the interest but still. Talk about an ego boost. And anyhow, they were friends. They had fun together.

                Not that he didn't deserve the attention. He definitely did. In fact, he was faster than Northstar. Therefore, he deserved to be appreciated by him. 

                But it didn't mean he was his _boyfriend. Would they say that about Wanda and Kitty, who had been getting along lately? That they were girlfriends? No._

                Not that it would matter. Girls never cared about shit like that. 

                Still running. He was starting to feel it, finally. Getting pretty far out of town, near the cliffs. Better turn a bit, so he wouldn't have to pay close attention. His reflexes were lightning quick, even at these speeds, he was hard to catch off guard. It was the equivalent to a regular human response time while… say jogging, his reaction to the world around him at this speed. But still, better safe than sorry, he supposed.

                He could go faster, of course. But he didn't need to. Just needed to get out. Get free. 

                Jean-Paul was a funny guy. Made him laugh. Did all kinds of things with him that no one else could stand to do. Could even keep up with him for a pretty good run. Got his jokes. Was smart, too. Almost as smart as him, really. He was cool. Always dressed well, had a nice car. Had been pretty famous, back home in Canada. Had done a lot of things, been a lot of places. He was interesting. And it was pretty rare, really, for Pietro to find someone who could hold his interest for more than fifteen minutes. JP never never gave him shit about his father, or his pranks, or his mouth. Just took him at face value. It was comfortable, being around him. Why shouldn't he be friends with him? 

                Seriously, so what if he hung out with JP all the time? So, the guy was gay? So what, less competition, right? It's not like he went around hitting on every guy he saw, either. 

                Just him. 

                Well, ok, just that once, really. And that was more of a mind-fuck than anything else. And no one else knew, as far as Pietro could tell, so no one else should know that the Canadian did, in fact, have something for him. 

                Ok, it was obvious that he did, to Pietro. No need to lie to himself about that much, right? He could handle it. Just a harmless crush. He'd never act on it, or anything. They were friends. Buddies. They caused trouble together.

                Not that he wanted Jean-Paul to act on it. Because he didn't. Definitely not. No way. Not a chance.

                He just liked the attention, was all. He deserved it.

                Right.

                That's all.

                Fuck.

                "You look worn out."

                Pietro looked up at him, and he smiled down, then walked around the bench to take a seat. 

                His friend didn't say anything, for a moment.

                "Something wrong?" Jean-Paul asked, absentmindedly starting to chew on his nails. It really wasn't like Quicksilver to be silent for more than ten seconds at a time. Not that he minded, it just struck him as odd.

                "No."

                A one word answer? Ok, now he _knew something was wrong. He looked back over at him, and saw that he was paler than usual. "Been running?"_

                The silver-haired boy made a face at the ground. As if the question irritated him. "Maybe."

                Right, now it was just getting obnoxious. "Bug up your nose?"

                Pietro made a face again, but finally looked over at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

                "You're being a dick."

                "So what? Maybe I'm having a bad day."

                Jean-Paul shrugged, "Alright, so tell me about it."

                Pietro chewed on his lip for a minute, just looking at him. Jean-Paul tried to decipher that expression, but it was unfamiliar. Made his long face seem just a little less sharp, his eyes just a little less shifty. But he was still wickedly handsome, really. Just more… thoughtful than usual. "Why should I tell you?"

                Alright, this was ridiculous. "I didn't say you had to, Pietro," he snorted, disdainfully, "I just suggested it."

                "Trying to be a friend, huh?"

                Jean-Paul raised his eyebrows. That tone suggested that he should be doing otherwise. "What's this about?"

                Pietro looked back at the ground, and slumped down further, broad shoulders suddenly rounded. Nothing like the cocky speedster Jean-Paul had come to know so well in the past month and a half in Bayville. The one he'd come to actually like, as a matter of fact, rather than just lusting after. Not that he didn't do that, anymore, but he did, at least, pay attention to what the guy was saying, these days. "Forget it."

                "If this is how you're going to be all day, I'm leaving. I'm sure as hell not going to sit and watch you pout."

                His friend looked back up at him now, glaring, lips pursed. "I'm not pouting."

                "Yes, you are."

                "Fuck you, Jean-Paul."

                The dark-haired boy felt his eyebrows raising in alarm, involuntarily. "_Excusez-moi?_"

                Pietro looked away again. "This is fucking lame."

                "Agreed." Jean-Paul wanted to stand up. To walk away. Not to look back.

                But this was so… abnormal, he found that he simply had to know what the fuck was happening. It just… made no sense. Yes, Pietro was a whiner. And an irritant. But he was rarely outright hostile, at least toward those he considered friends. Which, up until about five minutes ago, Jean-Paul would've sworn included him. Surely, something important had happened.

                "I gotta buy Lance more jellybeans."

                Confusion, now. "The jellybeans were his?" 

                "Yeah. For Kitty's birthday."

                "Great, I'll get him some new ones. Those were crap anyhow. Don't tell me you're mad because of jellybeans, Pietro." Even _he couldn't be that insane. No… not a chance._

                "Partially."

                "Is this the twenty questions act? I ask until I get close enough to the answer that you finally have to admit to it?"

                "I said I didn't want to talk about it."

                "Actually, you didn't." Alright. This was honestly getting to be a little much, even for him. He generally had infinite patience with Pietro. Or, at least, he'd thought he did. The guy's absolutely ridiculous sense of self and reality provided Jean-Paul with so much amusement, he was willing to overlook his little tantrums. In fact, they were usually fairly entertaining in themselves. But this was just stupid. "So if you're not going to explain it, maybe you'd like me to go, hm?"

                "Whatever, just make sure you buy the jellybeans, rich boy," Pietro sneered.

                Right. Now he was mad. "I'm sorry, did the son of _Magneto just refer to me as rich boy? As if I didn't make every penny of it myself? Like I don't fucking deserve it?"_

                Pietro stood up, suddenly, in a flash. And stood, staring down at him, a petulant, angry expression on his face, his normally smooth brow furrowed dangerously. "Oh great. So you're the orphan who made it on his own and I'm just some spoiled kid whose daddy ignores him and sends him money to keep him quiet. Ok, you've made your point. And anyhow, it's not like he always did. We've had to go hungry too, you know."

                Shock suddenly replaced anger. Jean-Paul could not remember having felt so many strong emotions in such quick succession in a very long time, really. He really hadn't known that Pietro had ever had it hard, but then… he really didn't know much about his supposed best friend. "You know that's not what I meant. What the hell are you on about? What does my money have to do with anything, anyhow? And _you're _the one who brought it up."

                "You brought up Magneto!"

                Jean-Paul just leaned back, and stared. Completely at a loss. He knew it wasn't exactly a great subject to bring up with either of the Maximoffs, but this was just ridiculous. Particularly considering that he hadn't started it. At all. Nor had he brought it up with the intention to irritate his friend, only to point out that he didn't exactly have limited resources himself. "And you brought up the fact that I'm an orphan. What's the point, Pietro? What the hell are you playing at?"

                But Quicksilver was turning an unhealthy pink color, and his words were starting to run together. He was losing control. And fast. "Iguess you wouldn'tunderstand."

                "And why the fuck not?"

                "If youeverhadparents, you'd knowenoughto realize that youshouldn't talkabout otherpeople's like that."

                Something snapped, inside Jean-Paul's head. And it released a hot, red rush of anger into his brain, until he couldn't see anything but Pietro, and couldn't feel anything but a need to hit him. A lot. He stood to face him, unwilling to let the other mutant look down on him any longer, and tried to keep his voice calm, low. "I didn't say _anything about your father. And real classy, Pietro. Really fucking nice to bring that up. This __orphan is good enough for you to be friends with when you want to borrow the car, but not when you feel like throwing a temper tantrum. You really are a spoiled fucking brat."_

                "Fuck you."

                "_And_ articulate. My, my."

                "Fuck this, Igottago."

                He watched, then, as Pietro sped up, and ran away. Lightning fast. But not so fast Jean-Paul couldn't see it. Not even Quicksilver was that fast. 

                And he stood for a few more minutes, shaking inside. Too angry to even wonder what the hell had just happened. Just wanting to hurt someone. 

                Mainly, Pietro.

                Jeanne-Marie felt her brother coming miles away. 

                They were like that, with their link. When he was very upset, or very happy, she could usually feel it once he came near, unless she forcibly ignored him. And right now, it was obvious that Jean-Paul was extremely upset. 

                She leaned out the window and waved to him, and he stopped, mid air, and just looked at her. She gestured that he should come to her, into her room. And he still just looked at her, as if trying to make up his mind. ::Jean-Paul! Come inside! Tell me what's wrong!:: She finally called out to him, in joual, so that no one else who was listening would understand.

                Finally, he made his decision, and flew to the window, landing on the sill without a sound. He jumped into the room, then sat on the sill where his feet had just been. 

                She cocked her head at her brother, examining him carefully. His face was normally so composed, but it was dark now. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and his eyebrows were pushed down low. He always looked so much older than they were, when he looked like that. ::Who's made you angry, brother?::

                His lips pressed even thinner. 

                She shook her head, and went to him, pushing at his shoulder to force him to make room for her on the sill. Once he'd moved, grudgingly, she sat herself next to him, and put her head on his shoulder. She didn't really need him to say it. She knew he was supposed to be causing trouble with Pietro somewhere. ::What did he do?::

                Sometimes, she felt very bad for her brother. He was strong, most definitely. Stronger than she, sometimes. But he was scared about many things. He pretended not to be, of course. Pretended he didn't care. But she knew better. 

                She knew it was hard for him. It would be hard for her, if Roberto had no chance of ever liking her back. As it was, they had problems enough, between them. But for all their problems, at least she knew he did like her, and he knew that she felt the same. 

                Jean-Paul would not find that. Not from this boy, anyhow. 

                She often wished he could just be… _normal. Then, perhaps, he would find it easier. Women loved him, after all. Wouldn't he be happier?_

                He sighed, and put an arm over her shoulders, leaning his head against hers. ::It doesn't matter. I don't even know what happened. He was just making excuses to be angry with me.::

                ::It hurt?::

                ::No. It made me angry.::

                Same thing, for Jean-Paul, and she knew it. Anything that didn't register in his mind as cool, manly, or controllable, he immediately pushed into the anger category, and proceeded to get very angry about it, almost immediately. The few emotions he would allow himself to express, or even acknowledge, for that matter, seemed to be disgust, irritation, hate, and amusement. Those, and anger, obviously. 

                But she knew better than to say that. ::What did he say?:: 

                Another sigh, but this time more like a deep breath. 

                ::He was generally being horrible. And then he referred to me as, "rich boy."::

                She picked her head up now, and looked over at her brother in confusion. ::Doesn't Magneto pay his bills now?::

                He rolled his eyes, ::That is just what I said.::

                ::Then what?::

                ::Then he told me I would know better than to talk about other people's parents, if I had parents of my own.::

                She gasped, and pulled out from under his arm, turning to face him bodily now, and pulling at his arm. ::Why would he say such a thing?:: Pietro, she knew, had a horrible mouth. He was a joker, a fool, and generally rude and insensitive. But she would not have called him cruel. 

                Jean-Paul shook his head. ::I don't care. At least he's out of my hair,:: and he stood up to go now.

                ::Brother, wait.::

                He turned, halfway across the room, and stood, looking at her.

                He looked old. His jaw muscles flexed, and she saw a flash of a fully grown man in him. Something more than this tall boy before her, something he would be very soon. Sometimes, when he seemed worried or hurt, she could see it in him, in how he dealt with it. How strong a man he would be, some day. And she was proud of him. ::He didn't mean it.::

                He shrugged, ::Honestly, Jeanne-Marie… I don't care if he did.::

                She bit her lip. This was not good. They had both spent their entire lives without parents, really. He had been given parents, once, but they had died as well, and had not been much of a family before that. And the rest of his families, all the ones he bounced to and from, had been little more than babysitters—momentary care to get him out of the way. Just like Madame DuPont's was for her. Only instead of one constant hell, her brother had been given multiple, smaller ones. Out of one and into another. 

                No, they did not have any parents. But neither of them would ever speak ill of someone else's. Ever.

                His face softened, as he looked at her, and he came back to her and kissed her on the forehead. ::Thank you, sister. Don't worry, I'm well. I just got angry. I thought he was my friend. I know who my real friends are now, no?::

                She looked up at him, and saw him try to smile at her. ::I know you're not well. I can feel it, Jean-Paul.::

                He shrugged, ::When have I last been well?::

                Not since she'd known him. Not really.

                She only nodded. And this time, when he turned to go, she let him. Chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully. 

                Wanda stared at her brother in awe. He was just… sitting there.

                "Alright, what the hell is up with you?" She demanded.

                He didn't even look at her, just focused on the TV. "What is with you people today," he was muttering.

                "You've been sitting there for two hours, Pietro," she pointed out. "You're starting to worry me."

                "Great, Wanda, that's great. Why don't you all start a club."

                She made a face, but moved to sit next to him anyhow. "Where's Jean-Paul?"

                He looked at her suddenly, eyes narrowed. "What? I have to be with him every day? Jesus Christ, I just want to watch TV." This little speech finished, he returned his attention to the television, mumbling something quickly under his breath.

                Her eyebrows raised, of their own accord. "Ok, sorry I asked. You two fight or something?"

                "No, we don't _fight_," he spat. "And why the hell would you assume it has to do with him, anyhow?"

                For a very brief moment, she considered hexing her hellion of a brother.

                But she changed her mind when she realized that she'd been the one who'd started bothering him, for a change. "Fine, forget about it. Just wondering, Pietro. You looked pissed."

                "Yeah, well this is what you look like every day, sis. Get an eyeful." 

                She _seriously _considered hexing him now.

                But there was a knock at the door. 

                Pietro continued staring, hard, at the television.

                She sighed, and got up to answer it, boots clomping loudly over the hardwood floor of the foyer. She pulled open the door, and was only mildly surprised. "Hey, JM."

                Jeanne-Marie smiled at her, a little uncertainly. Sometimes, she was like that. Usually she was just a sweet girl, kind of quiet, but definitely not a pushover. Other times, she was like a goddamn dominatrix, giving orders. And sometimes, she knew from experience, the girl was a crying, French-babbling nutcase.

                But those were only the times when something really shit had happened. And at the moment, she was looking pretty good. 

                "Is Pietro here, Wanda?" She asked, quietly.

                She nodded, "Yeah, sure," and stepped aside to let the girl in. 

                "Jean-Paul sent something for him," she explained, with an apologetic half-smile.

                Made her look even prettier. 

                At first, Wanda really hadn't much cared for the cover-girl. Between Jean Grey, Kitty Pryde, and Amara Aquilla, the last thing the Xavier Institute needed was another perfect face. At least Rogue knew how to dress, even if she was fairly good looking herself. But over the past month, she had come to appreciate… or at least, to tolerate, Jeanne-Marie Beaubier. 

                She'd never really done anything to piss her off, after all. And the list of people who had never pissed Wanda off was a really fucking short one. 

                She nodded toward the living room, and followed her in. Pietro didn't even look up.

                Jeanne-Marie went to him, and pulled something out of her purse now, a plastic package tied with a bow. And she dropped it into Pietro's lap.

                He looked down at it, then up at her. Brow furrowed.

                "He says those ones are better. They're Kitty's favorite. He asked Kurt."

                One corner of Pietro's mouth raised in a kind of sneer. "Thanks, JM."

                She nodded, and turned around to walk out of the house. "_Merci, _Wanda."

                "Sure," she looked over her shoulder to see her brother in the living room. He picked up the bag Jeanne-Marie had given him, looked at it for a second, and tossed it to the other end of the couch. Still sneering.

                Ok, she was going to have to ask. She followed the girl out the door and closed it, and grabbed for her arm before she could get away.

                Icy blue eyes met hers, only slightly darker, and she didn't even have to ask.

                "Jellybeans. Pietro and my brother took Lance's. They were for Kitty's birthday."

                She shook her head. "So why didn't _he bring them?"_

                Jeanne-Marie sighed. "They're not on speaking terms, as of this afternoon."

                Wanda didn't know if she wanted to laugh or roll her eyes. "I fucking knew it. He's been sitting around here all night, bored out of his skull." 

                The other girl shrugged, "Jean-Paul's been in the gym with Rogue. He says he doesn't care, but he does."

                "Fucking idiots. I wonder when they're gonna get it over with and just make out."

                Jeanne-Marie smiled at that, if a bit uneasily. "We should be so lucky."

                This time, Wanda rolled her eyes. "You know what happened?"

                The younger girl nodded. "I talked to my brother when he came home."

                "You guys are pretty close, huh?"

                She shrugged, "We're just happy to have each other. We fight, believe me. The whole school knows when we fight."

            Wanda could appreciate that. "Give me the story, will you?"

                Pietro Maximoff was not happy. He was tired, pissed off, and generally fucking bored.

                And it was his own fault. A fact that really only made the entire situation worse.

                Jean-Paul had been right. He was being a dick. And he knew it. But he didn't fucking care, because he… wait… what was his reason for sitting here, bored and pissed, on a Friday night?

                The door slammed. Boots falling on the floor. Heavier than Wanda's.

                "Lance!"

                The footsteps stopped. And started back in the direction of the living room, toward him. Eventually, Avalanche appeared at the doorway, and leaned on the frame. "What?" He wasn't smiling anymore, like he had been this morning.

                Good. At least he could glean some sort of satisfaction from that. Something had wiped the smirk right off Lance's face, apparently.

                Pietro grabbed the package on the other side of the couch, and threw them at the other boy, too fast for him to see.

                They smacked Lance in the stomach, and he gave a rather gratifying "uff!" sound.

                Pietro looked back at the TV, refusing to think.

                "Hey, these are really good. I couldn't find these at the store. Where'd you get these?"

                He didn't answer.

                "Hey, Earth calling Pietro."

                "Go away."

                Lance was quiet for a minute.

                Pietro stared at the TV, hard. And had no idea what was on it.

                "Look, I'm sorry about teasing you this morning. I didn't think it'd bother you so much."

                "Yeah, whatever, great, bye."

                Another pause. "Well, thanks. For these, I mean."

                From the corner of his eye, Pietro could see that he was holding up the jellybeans.

                "Thank Jean-Paul," he said, barely loud enough for the other boy to hear.

                "Whatever. Kit will love it."

                "I'm sure."

                Again, a pause. And the sound of Lance's boots started traveling into the kitchen, where they'd been headed in the first place.

                Ugh. So. Bored. Nothing to do. No dates. No nothing. He was supposed to be playing with fire, or water, or something equally dangerous, with JP. But no. No, he had to go and piss the guy off. On purpose. He knew damn well that his friend (which he probably wasn't anymore, after that) hadn't meant anything by bringing up Magneto.

                And he knew damn well he had looked for any reason to make him go away. And why?

                Fuck. Never mind why.

                The main problem with being bored, of course, was that it made him think. Ok, so he had been a little irritated that his father's "name" was mentioned.

                He didn't like his father, to be perfectly honest. He had, once. A long time ago, the first time he'd come into their lives. They'd lived pretty well, up to that point, at home. In Transia. That was home, with the Gypsies. With the Maximoffs. They had no idea where he was now, but he still thought of them as home. He remembered a lot about those times, before their father had come for them. They'd probably only been six or seven, when it had happened, but he could still remember it, if he was left to his own devices long enough. If he was given time to unbury all those piles of information he'd hidden so carefully, just so he could sleep. He could remember when Django and Marya, Dad and Day, as they used to call them, were young. Before the twins had even known about America, or Magneto, or the X-Men, or the Brotherhood, or mental institutions… when things had made sense.

                Sure, it was a little surreal. But he didn't realize it, at the time. It was all he knew, back then. Yeah, he had some fucked up memories of animal-people floating around his head. Memories the Maximoffs always shushed him for talking about, things only he and Wanda seemed willing to admit existed. That shit, that was what felt surreal. Like a strange dream he once had.

                Then, Magneto came. They didn't call him that, of course. They were told to call him father, and they did. And it was exciting, at first. They had each other, and now this powerful, larger-than-life man, whose Romany had the strange exotic flavor of America in it, had come for them. Told them they were special. Told them hey were his.

                They didn't understand, but they went with him.

                They were just little kids, they had no idea. No idea that this man, their real father, was in fact the fucking user he was. As a parent, he was worthless. The twins took care of themselves, usually. They were pretty used to having about seven sets of parents, a whole tribe of parents, really, so they were constantly lonely with their father. Even at the tender age of nine, they both knew they were only of interest to their father as an experiment. He wanted to "keep them safe" and see what kind of "powers" they would have. Made them speak English all the time, so that they only spoke their mother tongue with each other, and only when he wasn't around. Kept them isolated, so that all they had was each other. So that all they wanted was to go back to the gypsies.

                Wanda was always the louder one. He remembered that clearly, even if a lot of that time was still a blur to him. And she finally told him one day, that they wanted to go back. They could barely remember it, even though it'd only been about two years since they'd left Transia. All it was to them was warm and home. And all America was to them was cold rooms and television and their father's scary friends coming for late night meetings. And so one day, Wanda told him. We hate it here, we want to go back home.

                When their father refused her, that's when it happened. When things started to fly through the air, crushing furniture, putting holes in the walls.

                Knocking Pietro out cold.

                He woke up in a hospital bed in his father's lab.

                Two days later, they left Wanda. And Pietro didn't remember too much more than that, not about the next year. Except that he didn't do much talking, speaking only when his father forced him to be polite to someone or other. The rest, he had pretty well blocked out. Thankfully.

                Until a year later, when his father sent him away. Back home, just like Wanda wanted. Exactly what she'd asked for.

                Only, Wanda wasn't there anymore.

                That was about when he stopped having a chance of liking his father, probably. But… he… didn't understand. Why would his father send him away too? He was ten years old, quiet, smart, lonely. A good kid, right? What had he done wrong? Wanda had been the one who'd spoken up, and even that hadn't been so bad. And it wasn't her fault, what had happened, even though he was terrified by it. She hadn't meant to hurt him. His father told him he was sending him home "to protect him." But he couldn't believe it. That's what he'd said about sending Wanda away too. That she would hurt herself, and more people, if he didn't. She couldn't control herself. But if his father, who was so powerful, couldn't protect them, how could some poor Gypsies in a nameless country somewhere manage? Didn't he…

                What, love them?

                Pietro laughed, at the memory. He'd actually thought that, when he was a kid. Fuck, eight, nine years ago. What a fucking idiot.

                The next few years, back home, had been way more fun though. Getting his first arrest, at the age of twelve, just after his powers had finally shown up, was still one of his favorite memories. He'd been stealing food, actually, because the Gypsies had fallen on hard times again. Django and Marya, as he now called them, were concerned. They, he knew, probably loved him.

                But he didn't feel much, really. Not for anyone. Didn't allow it, maybe. Only when he was doing something he wasn't supposed to do.

                So he did a lot of it.

                His adoptive parents had settled down, after a few years, hoping some kind of stability would do him good, give him some kind of grounding. Make him into the good boy they'd known a few years ago.

                Didn't work. He raised hell until he was sixteen, using any excuse to get into a fight, cause trouble, steal, lie, manipulate. Because that was when he could feel again. Couldn't think about Wanda. Couldn't think about his father. But his mind raced so fast that he couldn't build the walls fast enough to block out the memories and he needed to see them, needed to find them, needed to find out who he was and what had happened and where he was going and…

                So he begged to be sent back to the States on an exchange program… got back to New York. And disappeared. And the rest was history. He'd slipped right through the cracks, ditched that whole "host family" idea, searched and stolen and lived so fast… until he'd been rescued again, thrown into jail for what felt like the hundredth time. Found out about Wanda, what had happened to her in there…

                Fuck. Just fuck. He fucking hated being bored. Hated thinking. Hated thinking about his father, about how he'd let himself be used repeatedly by the man, just because of some stupid blood ties that meant fuck all, because of some stupid childhood need to redeem himself for whatever it had been that had made his father send him away in the first place. Hated thinking about his sister, what Magneto had done to her. Hated the fact that he didn't know if she even remembered the Maximoffs, how happy they'd been as kids. Hated that he was the only one now who had dreams about those weird animal-men, and couldn't talk to her about it anymore because he might wake up some memory that would sent her into a fit of blind rage that would kill them all. Hated that the only real parents he'd ever known had no idea where he was and he couldn't bring himself to write them and tell them that he was ok and he'd found Wanda and they were alive and eating well and Jesus Christ…

                He hated his life.

                Needed to set something on fire.

                Needed a fucking cigarette.

                Needed something to do, to take his mind off of things.

                Needed a goddamn friend. And all of it, all the bullshit, all the memories, all the arrests and the trouble and the need to just feel something, the need to just run away, run fast, were not excuses for being an absolute prick to the one guy who he wanted to be his friend.

                But he couldn't stop thinking about them now. Bored. Just… so bored. He knew if he went for a run, it would help. But he couldn't help himself. Kinda like he thought he deserved to just sit here and remember.

                Dammit, wasn't there anything on TV?!

(To be continued, I promise)[1]

  


* * *

[1] Enter the ridiculously long AN:

                Sorry to leave that hanging a bit (not much, but a bit, anyhow!) I will resolve their issues, for better or for worse, but I couldn't resist throwing in some drama, and I wanted to set up some Maximoff past, for later things I'm planning. (God, when will the Evo binge end?! I can hear you all now!) If anyone wants to take issue with the past I've created… too bad. Ha! No, seriously, if you are confused, or wonder why I set it up the way I did, let me just say this much: 

                The problem with creating **a history for the Maximoff twins that doesn't entirely defy all logic, is that Evo made things really effing difficult. All we really see is the jailbreak, and Wanda getting locked away, with little Pietro looking pretty bloody depressed about it. He lives alone, in Evo, when introduced (ok, I'm guessing, but c'mon…) and my DVD of evo says he's "an exchange student." I kid you not.**

                I can't ignore those things. So combining this with all the crap from Marvelverse canon… what the hell can I do? I love Wundagore (yeah, yeah, I think the New Men are cool, and if you don't know about them, they're the "animal-men" Pietro dreams about—he and Wanda were born at the High Evolutionary's citadel at Wundagore, Transia, yes an entirely made up place) And I can't just _ignore _the fact that the twins are called Maximoff… So this is the best I can do. And actually, I kinda like it. 

                I have a timeline set up for the Maximoff twins' past, and if anyone has questions, please email or leave a note in a review, whichever is easier, and I will be happy to send it to you.

                That said, let me give up mad **thanks to those of you who have read and/or reviewed. I'm really blown over by the interest some of you have in these stories, and your input really helps me out. About half of the thirteen or so stories I have planned for this run are finished, but they're constantly evolving (which is why I'm updating slower than usual.) If someone has a request, I'd be happy to try and fit it in, because a few of the things I have planned haven't even been begun. A character you want involved? A request for smut or jokes or drugs or rock n roll? We'll see them all eventually, but this is just for fun (and, admittedly, to set up yet another sequel that is more Maximoff than anything else, since I've been looking at my old Quicksilver and Siege of Wundagore comics!) I do know where this is going, but there is room for diversion and antics, as a collection of random fluff. And you've all been so kind to me, to review so much, I want you to know that I really appreciate it. Never expected to love reviews like I do. Been writing fanfic for not less than two months, and already I am hooked. **

_The Rogue Witch-_  Oh, but fic with your sick fantasies woven in is the best kind! Hence my whole Pietro/JP obsession *cough*

_SilverCaladan_- Imagining you on the floor of the high school hallway cracks me up entirely. God you make me laugh. And that's funny, because my brother and I are always making Wonder Twin jokes about ourselves. He says—"Form of—Giant Groundhog!" I say—"Form of—Water!" 

_TKD_- Again, thank you so much for the kind review. I'm really glad that you can appreciate JP and JM, despite no former interest in them. Hopefully you'll get hooked like I did ;) Your fuzzy elf is incoming, but not for a few more chapters! And as for hugging JP… dunno, you seem like the sort he could get along with! Well, Evo JP, anyhow. Marvelverse JP is too fussy to call, but if I was writing him, he'd love you.

_Risty- _I'm stereotyping, but the Brazilian dude I was friends with in high school… god the drama. And what a _flirt_. Thanks for your continued reading, I really enjoy your fic (the Rahne one! Oh god, so good!) so it means a lot to me.

_Regret_- You're such a darling to be suckered into my world. Thank you, thank you!

_Peanut_- Glad it made you laugh. I know you have a wicked sense of humor ;) Btw, waiting for more of the epic!

_Fata Morgana_- Again, thank you. That is the thing about doing an Evo Aurora that's so fun, you can pretty much go anywhere. God knows she got to do fuck all in AF, except be… well ok mildly irritating. She was usually just a love interest, or JP's sister. Or crazy. Stereotype. She has such great potential, and I think she should have a very artistic soul, so I'm gonna come at her from that angle. Glad it meets with approval from a fellow AF fan. And you know, I read a lot to learn Spanish and German too, but writing was always the hard thing to do, and what I did after I became more advanced. I will throw that in too though, you have got a great idea there. School should be interesting for JM…

_Rivulet027_- Thanks for the encouragement. Glad they were amusing for you. Appreciate the comment about knowing the characters, hope I can keep that up!

                All that said, thank you again, and hope the drama wasn't too disappointing after all the laughs. But you know, teenagers. Haven't been one for a few years, but I remember feeling _very angsty back then ;)_

                Some things never change, huh?


	4. Our Fearless Leaders

Our Fearless Leaders

_Wherein Jean-Paul makes a friend, and Jeanne-Marie gives advice_

_Telltale Quote: This preppy thing is done in, Scott.—Jean-Paul Beaubier_

  


Scott Summers, by virtue of his "eye condition," was perpetually seeing red.

But at the moment, he finally understood what everyone else meant, when they claimed to be seeing red as well. His heart was thudding, his blood was racing, he was sweating, shaking… he hadn't been this mad since Mystique had replaced the Professor (and god, he'd been so mad, he'd almost killed her…) 

And he was mad at his girlfriend. Jean Grey. 

He ground his teeth hard, trying to sound calm, in control. No blowing up, buddy. Stay cool. You love Jean. You worship her. She's the perfect girl, your angel. Calm. "Jean, you are overreacting."

She had her hands on her hips. "Oh am I? Patronize me a little more, Scott Summers, and you'll see what overreacting is. I am sick and tired of watching you flirt!"

"Jean, she's your roommate for god's sake! Your friend! She wasn't flirting!"

"I'm not talking about JM, I'm talking about you," Jean yelled, loud enough for anyone on the entire second floor to hear, he was certain. "In case you didn't know, most women's eyes are located _above _the neck, not _below_, where you seem to think hers are!"

His mouth fell open. "Jean, I—," but he had no reply. Just none at all.

This was insane. One minute he was talking to Jeanne-Marie about her new school clothes, the next he was facing the Red-headed Inquisition. And much like the Spanish Inquisition, no one really expects it. He was completely at a loss. 

"I was just being friendly! She was excited!"

"Yeah, bet you were too."

Oh, now that was just over the line. He had not been excited! And Jeanne-Marie was gorgeous, so that was a pretty brilliant accomplishment! 

He didn't think saying that would help his case, however. 

"What is wrong with you, Jean? You're just pissed off all the time, lately. Nothing I do is right."

"Sounds like that's your problem, Shades, not mine." She intoned frostily, glaring at him with those huge, green eyes. 

Damn. She was beautiful when she was angry. 

In a scary sort of way. Like a dragon. One that breathes fire. Pretty to look at, but you could be dead in an instant, if she so much as thought of it. 

Really… it only made her more beautiful. 

But seriously. "This is ridiculous. I wasn't flirting, and neither was she, and you _know _how I feel about you so this shouldn't even be an issue."

"Fine then," Jean started to walk by him now, "Consider the issue closed."

"Jean…"

But to his utter shock and amazement, he found that Jean was already gone when he turned, and she closed the door behind her as he watched. 

Dammit. What the hell was wrong with her these days?

  
  


Did she really want the last month they had together to be spent like this? Fighting all the time? Getting upset over every stupid little thing that happened? Why the hell would she suddenly react to JM being a flirt (which, he reminded himself, she was, but she had just been genuinely excited and he had definitely _not _been excited) so badly? 

No reason. No reason at all. Women were so… insane.

He popped the head off the dandelion he was holding, and proceeded to stare blankly, at the trees before him. He was trying very hard to lose himself in the warm August day. To stop thinking why, why, why, when he knew there was no answer. She would just have to come around. 

"What are you miserable about?"

Dry. Almost French accent. Male.

Scott turned around to see Jean-Paul Beaubier, sporting his usual overpriced t-shirt and jeans look, with his arms crossed over his chest and coming up behind him slowly.

He shook his head and looked away. Hadn't thought anyone would find him out here. Certainly not Mr. Personality.

Not that he didn't like JP. He really did, always had. But he was hardly someone Scott expected to come looking for a distraught teammate. "What are you doing here?"

Jean-Paul was beside him now, and sat down in the grass. "I came here to think. I do that."

"Oh." Ok, so he hadn't come looking for him. Not that he thought he would. After all, it was JP."Me too."

"I can go. I honestly have no idea why I just sat down next to you."

Scott felt himself smile at that. Somehow, coming from Northstar, the words were charmingly friendly. He sounded bemused, when he said it. "It's cool. What are _you_ miserable about?"

JP started pulling up the grass next to him, with both hands, distractedly. He clearly had no idea he was even doing it. "This is my natural state, Slim. You're the happy-go-lucky one."

"That is the first time anyone's ever described me like that."

"Depends on the basis for comparison."

"Compared to you, yeah, ok, I'll buy it."

Jean-Paul gave a wry half-laugh, that sounded a little like a sigh. 

And they sat in silence for a few minutes. JP pulling up grass, Scott staring up at the bright sky.

He remembered how it used to look blue. He'd once heard Kitty say that JP's eyes were like that—like a really bright sky. Not the dark sapphire kind of sky, but the light, not quite cloudy kind. 

He hadn't seen real blue in a long time. 

Whatever though, right? At least he wasn't tearing the roofs off of buildings on accident, anymore. At least he had everything else. Big deal if everything looked red to him. Small price to pay. He had a family here, hell he even had Alex now. He had Jean…

Involuntarily, he sighed. And immediately wished he hadn't. 

As much as he liked JP, he really didn't trust the guy not to mock him for sounding like a pansy.

"Actually, I know why you're miserable," Jean-Paul said suddenly. "I heard. We all heard."

Well, that was unexpected. Not so much that he'd heard, but that he'd bring it up. "Oh. Sorry."Was about all he had to say in return.

JP shrugged, "I don't know what it was about, but I know she's mad as hell."

"She thought I was flirting with…," Hrm. JP did _not _like people flirting with his sister. He _barely_ tolerated Roberto and JM's odd relationship, in fact.

Not that he was scared of him. Just…

"My sister," the younger boy finished for him, anyhow. She _was_, after all, the obvious choice."Yes, well, Jeanne-Marie invites it, doesn't she. And Jean is the Queen of the X-Men, I'm sure it annoys her that JM gets attention some times."

Mildly annoyed at first, Cyclops shot him a glare under his shades… but ended up rolling his eyes when he realized how true it was. "Yeah, I guess. She's being weird lately."

Jean-Paul shrugged, "Women are always weird, if you ask me."

Scott declined to comment on that. Clearly, JP was unimpressed with women. He was hardly going to be of any help on this issue. Not that he felt like talking about it anyhow. Hell, he didn't even really want to _think _about it anymore. 

JP shifted, pulled something out of his pockets, and was messing around with something crinkly as the thoughts flitted through Scott's mind. When he next looked over, the darker boy had a Parliament Light lit and was sucking at it contentedly. 

Now there was something new. "Since when do you smoke?"

Jean-Paul blew a cloud of toxin away from him, considerately, and shrugged, clutching the glowing stick between his first two fingers lightly, naturally. "When I'm pissed, or when I'm drunk, mostly. Want one?"

Scott raised an eyebrow, "No thanks."

"Guess I could get you drunk first. You'd change your tune."

Scott actually had to laugh at that. Something about Jean-Paul was really alarming sometimes, like when it seemed he was about to start mocking someone. He had a wicked tongue, could lash out with it like no one Scott had ever known before. But other times, he was the most disarming son of a bitch on the planet. Unpredictable. Just so relaxed, comfortable in his own skin. It made him seem so much older than the rest of them, sometimes.

At the moment, Scott really wished he felt a little more at home in his own skin—he always seemed to be on edge. He envied it in JP, but admired it more. That and his honesty. This was one guy he knew would tell him exactly what he thought of him, even if it wasn't pretty. 

And there had been times when what JP had thought of him was not so pretty at all.

But at least he was honest. 

"I gotta get out of here," Jean-Paul halfway sighed, blowing another smoke cloud straight up in the air. "I'm bothering you because I'm fucking bored, if you want the truth. Almost turned around when I saw you out here, expected to be alone. But seriously man, I'm stir crazy right now."

That, Scott could understand. "I guess I am too. Can't stop thinking, even though I want to."Then a thought occurred to him. "Hey, want to go see that Jackie Chan movie downtown? Jean won't go, and I need something to get my mind off… you know."

Northstar smirked at him around his cigarette, and raised an eyebrow… awfully playfully. "As long as you're not asking me on a date, Summers," he drawled as he returned the cigarette to his hand, smoke rising from his mouth as he spoke. He blew out the last of it in a lazy cloud as he finished the sentence, and just continued smiling, evilly.

Against his will, Scott felt his face flush. 

Not that it bothered him. Jean-Paul's… whatever. Homosexuality. He didn't care about who the hell the guy slept with. But sometimes… Jesus he was a fucking flirt, when it suited him. It was kinda uncomfortable…

But undeniably funny, in a sick sort of way. Which was really Northstar in a nutshell, on a good day. Uncomfortably, wickedly sort of funny. 

On a bad day, he was just a prick.

The darker boy stopped smirking and punched him in the arm, lightly. "Fuck, Scott, I'm joking. Little humor to lighten your heavy teenage lovelorn angst moment. Ha-fucking-ha, right?"

"Right, I knew that. Sorry. I'm just a little…"

"Tight-assed. Yes, I know, I've lived with you for two months now, and it has not escaped my notice," JP was grinning at him, and exhaling again. Man he was sucking that thing down. "I know I made fun of you and called you a fairy for the glitter thing, but I didn't take it seriously, I swear."

Ok, now he had to laugh. "Yeah, I didn't think I'd be taking the title from you."

Northstar's eyes widened now, in mock surprise, "Mon dieu, the sense of humor returns!"

"Yeah, yeah. Come on, it's a nice day, I'm driving."

Jean-Paul stood up with him, laughing easily now. "Lovely, we can go and sulk together."

"And see some Kung Fu," He reminded his Canadian teammate, "Don't forget, Kung Fu."

"A key element of male bonding and angst therapy throughout the world," Was JP's solemn reply, as they made their way to the driveway and Scott's car. "Sounds like just the thing, Tinkerbell."

  
  


Jeanne-Marie leaned in close, closed her eyes, and quickly brushed Roberto's pouting lips with a kiss. 

When she opened her eyes, he was smiling again. 

His sulks never managed to last too long, when she was in the room.

"There, don't you feel better?"

He grinned at her, his million dollar, flashy white grin, and raised a dark eyebrow suggestively."Feel a lot better if we could head upstairs and—,"

But he never got to finish, because Jean came storming by, obviously in a rage. "Can't you two stop making out in public? God, it's _disgusting_."

Roberto opened his mouth to talk back instantly, but JM shook her head at him and watched her roommate stomp away, toward the kitchen. When she was out of view, she looked back to him.

He was muttering something in Portuguese that didn't sound particularly kind, and looking pouty again. So cute when he was pouty. Full-lipped and petulant. She loved that. 

"She was angry with Scott, earlier. I was talking to him and she ran out of the room, he followed her… maybe I should go talk with her?"

Berto rolled those dark eyes of his. So brown, they almost looked black. Hard to tell where the brown ended and the black of his pupils began, in fact. And those eyelashes… thicker than her own. 

Hardly fair, really, when men had prettier eyes than women. But awfully nice to look at.

"Whatever, she's just in bitch mode again. What's new?"

But no matter how pretty Roberto was… Jean was her first friend here. "I should go. I'll see you at dinner, non?"

He sighed, heavily, and his shoulders slumped a bit. "I guess."

She kissed him quickly on one smooth, dark cheek, and hurriedly followed after her red-headed roommate. 

Whom she found eating ice cream at the kitchen table. 

Surprisingly, the normally friendly Jean didn't even look up at her, just stared down into the carton… which she was eating directly from. 

Jeanne-Marie immediately felt more cautious about this situation, at that sight. This was entirely out of character… "Hello, Jeanne…," she started tentatively.

Jean's emerald eyes flicked up to hers, and then back down to the ice cream. "Hello."

Oh. That was cold. JM could practically feel the ice dripping off the word, as the other girl spoke it. She slid into a chair across from Jean anyhow, and leaned her elbows on the table. "I'm sorry if Roberto and I made you angry…"

Jean sighed, and dropped her spoon into the carton entirely. Then looked up at her, and held her eyes for a few moments. "It's not you, JM. I'm sorry, you guys were fine. I'm just…"

Aurora bit her lip, uncertain. She liked when her friends talked to her, but was never quite certain how to encourage it properly. With her brother, it was easy to know. But with others… "Do you want to tell me what's wrong? I'd like to know, Jean."

For a moment, the older girl was silent. Just looking at her. And then she sighed again, and leaned back in her chair, folding her arms over her chest. "I don't know. I'm just… It's August."

Yes, of course it was August. Jeanne-Marie was actually kind of excited about it really. In a few days, she would turn eighteen. And then, a new school. She wasn't so sure how she'd like it, but she couldn't help but be excited…

Oh. "You mean… you're going to a new school?"

Jean nodded, silent, and bit at her bottom lip. 

She should have seen it coming, of course. She'd known for a long time that Jean was excited to start college, but reluctant to leave. Who wouldn't be? Jean, for all intents and purposes, ran this school. Everyone looked up to her, respected her… and Scott… well, Scott was in love with her. 

And Jeanne-Marie, for one, would not be able to leave something like that. Not in a million years. "Jeanne… do you truly want to leave, more than you want to stay?"

Jean looked down into the carton of ice cream now, and continued chewing her lip for a moment before replying, "Well, it's a good opportunity. The colleges in the city are good, but this one would be free, and it's Ivy League…"

"Well," the darker girl considered carefully. She didn't want to seem like she was pushing for one thing or another, even though she wanted her roommate to stay. This was her first family, and Jean was such an important part of it, to her. The first friend she'd made. The one who'd held her when she was scared. She could remember that much. "I suppose… you should make a list. Write down the reasons to stay in one column, an the reasons to go in another. Then, you can look at them side by side, and make your choice. If you know what is important to you, it will be clear."

The red-head looked back up at her, and pursed her lips a bit. "I've already made the choice, JM. Everyone is expecting me to be… to go to school."

Jeanne-Marie only shrugged at her. "It's never too late,_ ma amie_, when the choice is such an important one."

  
  


Jean-Paul was loathe to admit to it, but he really did enjoy Jackie Chan movies. Cheesy, stupid, utterly ridiculous Jackie Chan movies. And this one had been no exception, even though he was not in the best of moods. Not particularly grouchy, he supposed. In fact, he was, for some reason, craving some sort of human interaction. Which usually meant he was in a rare, so his sister told him, good mood. 

But he still felt… off. 

Yes, he was still angry with Pietro. He'd slept on it. Twice, in fact. And he was still angry.

Not that it mattered, of course. Whatever. They were never really friends, he told himself. And now they would never be, and he was much better off without that bratty son of a bitch stealing his daylight hours. 

And that was about all he would allow himself to think, in regard to his former "best friend."Any thing deeper would depress him.

And Scott, really, was pretty amusing to hang out with. Admittedly, he hadn't expected to like the young team leader when they'd first met. But little by little, he'd come to appreciate the older boy's sincerity, and to be entertained by his tight-ass behavior. He was a good guy, just a little…controlled. And so was Jean-Paul, really, so he should be able to understand that. 

Guys like Summers, they were just begging to be messed up. Straight-laced and Boy Scout-ish. Always made him want to… corrupt them. Not that he found Scott all that attractive (handsome, but definitely not his type,) but it did honestly amuse him to watch his fearless leader flush with embarrassment if he flirted or joked around with him. Jean-Paul was a sucker for head games, and loved the fact that so many things about him could make people squirm with discomfort. Not that he'd do it, but it'd be awfully fucking funny to get really close, like he was going to kiss him, or give him "The Look" and see if it made him twitch. 

"The Look" was something he was particularly proud of. He could stare down anyone, across a room, with it, and they would instantly be his. All he had to do was level his eyes at them, and think of just what it was he'd like to do to them. Very rarely did it happen that he didn't get a response. And if he didn't, he usually ended up getting one from someone's pissed off boyfriend. Or girlfriend, on one occasion.

Talk about misjudging a situation. Hadn't made that mistake again…

But hell, he'd been using that Look for years. And he _loved _using it.

Sometimes, having been a street kid was a real fucking downer. But it had certainly opened him up to certain… possibilities at a much earlier age than a normal life would have, that was for certain. And the being famous that immediately followed hadn't hurt with that either.

Still, he didn't want to give Scott a heart attack. Or to mock him too much, as fun as it was. They'd had their disagreements (like the disagreement his fist had had with Scott's jaw not so long ago, in fact,) but he did enjoy the other boy's company. He knew Cyke could handle a little discomfort, and be just as entertained as him, in the end. But too much was uncalled for.

He'd have to find someone he liked a little less, and play with them.

Jesus, he was really bored lately. 

Fucking Pietro.

Chrisse_, stop thinking about that! He's no one to you, there's no reason to be so angry!_

Scott, thankfully, saved him from his thoughts. "Wow, really glad Jean wasn't there. She would've spent the whole movie bitching about me ogling that cute girl in the suit."

Jean-Paul wrinkled up his nose, walking beside his friend toward the coffee shop down the street. Neither of them had wanted to go home, and Northstar had promised to order decaf, so they were headed to just hang out a bit more before returning to the Institute. "She was too thin."

Scott looked over at him and raised an eyebrow.

"I'm gay, not blind," the Canadian smirked at him. 

"Good point," the other boy conceded. "So where's Pietro lately, I figured you'd be hanging out with him."

Jean-Paul looked at the sidewalk immediately, at his brand new Diesel shoes he was so proud of. God he loved that store. "Pietro is… a complete bastard."

He could _feel _the look Scott was giving him now, behind those ruby shades (which actually made him look damn cool.) He knew very well that pretty much everyone at the Institute had _ideas_about his intentions toward the other speedster. He hadn't said anything to anyone but Rogue, but it was pretty clear that JM knew, and everyone else… well they were good people, but he knew very well that any guy he started hanging out with too much was going to come under suspicion of being a love interest.

Of course, any guy his sister hung around with would come under suspicion of being hers. Or any _girl_ Scott hung around, or Kurt, or whoever. That was the nature of the beast, as they said. So it wasn't as if it was just him.

Still, it irritated him a bit, because it was true. _Was _true. Not that anything was ever going to happen, but it was there, anyhow. Hell, half the time he would've sworn it was there from Pietro's end too…

No. _Stop thinking _now.

"Well, yeah, but I figured you knew that, man," Scott was laughing, happily cutting off his thoughts again. "I mean you guys have been hanging out for two months now, right? He's always been a complete bastard, as far as I know."

Jean-Paul shrugged, "Birds of a feather, as they say."

Scott laughed again, that easy laugh he had when he was relaxed. Jean-Paul often envied that laugh. Admired it, but envied it more. He always thought his own laugh sounded either forced, or just wicked. Must be nice, to laugh so easily. Even if he was a tight ass most of the time. "You're only a bastard when you feel like you have a reason, it's usually more a question of how much the rest of us agree with you. Maximoff just pisses people off to be a dick. There's a difference."

"He just gets bored easily," Northstar was defending his ex-friend before he realized it, "he can't help that no one can keep up with him. It's not easy for him, you know."

Scott was silent a minute, and Jean-Paul felt that look again. That questioning, curious one. And he knew that his traitorous cheeks were flushing. And his ears as well, most likely. 

Fucking hell. He'd have to learn to control that, like he was controlling his expression, at the moment. "But it's no excuse, you're right. He's a complete twat," he amended.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the taller boy nodding, "Yeah, that's all I meant. Sorry, I know he's your friend."

"He's not my friend," Jean-Paul snapped, instantly, totally thrown off by the conversation at this point. God, just be quiet for a minute, Beaubier. Get your control back… Another moment's silence, and he looked over at the boy beside him, finally. "Christ, I'm just in a mood. Ignore me."

Scott smiled at him brightly, "Don't sweat it, Speedy. Figured it was a sore subject. Remember, you're ordering decaf, and I'm buying."

"If you weren't so damned cute, Summers, I'd fight you on this," Jean-Paul couldn't resist, as he opened the door for his team leader, back to smirking.

Scott rolled his eyes this time. "If it keeps you decaffeinated, I don't care how much you stare at my ass, Jean-Paul. Hell, I'll stare back."

He was about to comment on how impressed he was with that reply, when he felt something familiar tugging at the corner of his mind. He looked around as he stepped inside the small, blessedly air conditioned shop, and caught Jeanne-Marie seated in a far corner, in the back, with Jean. Smiling at him. "Look who's here," he nodded for Scott's benefit in their direction.

Scott grimaced, "Hell."

"Should we go say hello?"

"No."

Jean-Paul rolled his eyes, "Now who's the bastard? Come on, she's probably forgotten all about it."

He started in their direction and, as he had known he would, Scott followed along. 

"Hello, boys," his sister was smiling at them sweetly as he made threaded his way through the last few tables and to her side. "What are you two getting up to in town?"

He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed, by way of greeting, and then looked over to measure Jean's reaction to the presence of Scott. She was pointedly looking at the two of them by turns, no expression on her face… and covering up a piece of paper in front of her, obviously torn from the journal he'd bought Jeanne-Marie, which was sitting in front of his twin. 

Interesting. 

"Jackie Chan movie," Scott answered, a little too cheerfully. 

"Male bonding," Jean-Paul intoned, dryly. 

Jeanne-Marie giggled and Jean made an attempt to smile at him.

He didn't like Jean half as much as he liked Scott. She was bitchy, much bitchier than he was, as far as he was concerned. But she did look genuinely distressed. ::What's her problem?:: He asked his sister, switching into their Québécois native tongue, and quietly. ::Scott's very upset about this fight, I think.::

::She is too. She is thinking she doesn't want to leave, and it's upset her very much.:: Came his sister's wide-eyed answer. 

::Idiots.::

::Talk to him about it, please.::

He raised an eyebrow at her. This was not his scene, so much, this shoulder to cry on thing. But what the hell. And not as if he could deny Jeanne-Marie anything, if she asked. ::I'll try it, sister. For you.::

She smiled up at him sweetly, ::Thank you, Jean-Paul.::

"Well, um, not to interrupt," Scott was fidgeting behind him impatiently, obviously wanting to get moving. "But we were getting drinks, so we'll see you girls later, at home, I guess."

Jean looked at the table. Hard.

"Yes, nothing like coffee on a humid, hot day like today. Later, mes_ amis_."

As they made their way to the counter, once they were out of hearing range, he told Scott, "Well, that was uncomfortable. Sorry about that. I was asking what the hell is wrong with Jean, though. Jeanne-Marie says she's upset about leaving, and doesn't want to go."

Scott looked over at him in surprise. His mouth was open, and working, but no sound was coming out.

"Can I help you?"

Scott blinked once, then looked at the woman behind the counter, who was staring at them eyebrows raised. "Uh, yeah…," he fumbled for his wallet, "Um… one frozen Irish cream cappuccino and… uh…," he looked back at Jean-Paul now, nodding that he should order.

"Amaretto iced coffee…"

Scott raised his eyebrows.

"Decaf," Jean-Paul sighed, disappointed.

He paid, and they continued to find themselves a table near the window. And Scott looked at him carefully over his drink as he sucked on his straw. Considering.

Jean-Paul knew what he was considering, of course. Whether or not he should talk. He knew he was supposed to say something to convince the older boy… 

But hell, this really wasn't his thing. 

"So… uh… you think I should bring it up with her?"

Jean-Paul nearly sighed with relief. Thank god for Americans and their blundering need to talk things out. All the fucking time. "Probably. Women are like that, _non_? Want to be asked, expect everyone to know how they're feeling. Now that you have insider information…"

Scott nodded, thoughtfully. "I feel kinda bad now. I mean, for not figuring that's what it was about."

Jean-Paul took a pensive sip of his own coffee. He could swear he could _taste _the lack of caffeine. Lame. Oh well, at least the amaretto syrup had sugar. "You love her?"

Eyebrows raised, Scott just looked at him. Like he'd just been smacked in the face, and didn't know what to think.

"Ok, so yes, you do," that much was clear, from that reaction. "Then, _oui_, talk to her. But remember, you didn't hear it from me."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll make it seem like I'm figuring it out, as we talk."

"You're a mastermind. Be subversive and prosper, _mon_ ami."

Scott rolled his eyes. "Right. But I don't want to pressure her into staying…"

"No, of course not," Jean-Paul was just playing along now. He figured that at this point, all he really needed to do was nod and smile and repeat whatever the other boy said, and he'd sort it out on his own.

And he couldn't even have caffeine. He deserved caffeine for this.

"And I should take her out somewhere nice…"

"Definitely."

"Can I borrow that button down you have? The black one with the white stripes down the front?"

Oh sweet Jesus. The horrors of having the only decent wardrobe in Bayville. "Yes, but maybe not that one. What about that white one with the green paisley print? It's cooler, and would look better with your hair color. Not to mention the shades. And those jeans." And besides, it'd look better on Scott than on him. He had no idea what had compelled him to buy such a thing, he looked much better in blue… and honestly, paisley? 

Scott just nodded, "Right, ok, good thinking."

"Just make sure the shirt underneath is white. Don't go screwing it up. And that necklace she gave you, the one that's hemp, wear that." he added. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right. "It'll complete the so-badly-retro-it's-good look you can do so well."

Scott raised an eyebrow. "You think? That's my look?"

"It should be. This preppy thing is done in, Scott."

He seemed to be thinking that through rather deeply, before he asked "So what's yours?"

He considered. "The I'm-too-snotty-to-be-a-rock-star-but-I-want-to-be look. Black shirts, pre-worn out jeans, and all of it more expensive than it should be."

"Dude, you need a belt. A black leather one with metal shit on it."

Jean-Paul laughed at that. But actually, such a thing might be good for going out… not that he did that much, lately, but that only meant he was long overdue. And he'd be eighteen in a few days, would get his new ID. The first one to list his name as Jean-Paul Beaubier, in fact. He wouldn't need his fake just to go out dancing, anymore. "Maybe, honestly. Not necessarily a big one…"

"Just a rock star one."

"I'll consider it." 

  
  


Jean pretended not to be watching the two boys near the window, who were laughing and talking animatedly over their coffee. 

_ Great, now he's flirting with Jean-Paul. He looks _really upset that we fought, alright!

And then, Calm down, Grey._ Scott isn't flirting with anyone. Just. Calm. Down._

She looked over the table at Jeanne-Marie, who was eyeing the list they'd made carefully. Honestly, it had seemed like a stupid idea. But she really hadn't been mad at Aurora in the first place… the girl was a flirt, and definitely gorgeous… but she was her friend. And absolutely not after Scott. 

And Scott wasn't after her. Or her brother, for that matter. Or anyone.

Anyone but Jean, anyhow. And here she was, being a brat, during their last month together. 

But… it didn't have to be her last month.

She chewed on her bottom lip, and listened to Jeanne-Marie read off the list.

"Alright, reasons to stay in Bayville. Number one- Developing powers. Number two- Friends at Xavier's. Number three- Offer from NYU. Number four- You want to stay."

"Should we really count that one, JM?" She shook her head. It sounded so silly…

"Is it true?" Jeanne-Marie raised one already upswept eyebrow at her.

She nodded, slowly. She did want to stay. And not just because she was afraid to go somewhere new. Somewhere new would be a good thing. But… this was home now. Her friends were here. All they'd been through in Bayville, and the X-Men… the X-Men were her home. Everyone has to leave home, of course…

But she'd done that once, already. This time, she wanted to stay.

"Number five- Scott," The younger girl continued, as if the issue was settled. "But you decided that wasn't a good reason…"

Jean swallowed heavily. She knew better than to think that she should stay in one place for some boy. It wasn't in her to do something like that. And that was, perhaps, the thing that made this most difficult. Separating her wish to stay from her wish to be with him. They had to be two separate issues, in order for her argument for staying to be valid. She could _not _stay for a boy. 

The NYU gig was good. Very good. Just a little more expensive, oddly enough. And she could totally either live there and come back to the Institute on some weekends and evenings, or even commute, if she really wanted to stay. The Professor had encouraged her to live in a dorm, telling her that half her education would be learning to live with the other students, and she liked the idea… but staying in the city would make it so much easier. On her peace of mind.

Her parents would support her, that much she knew. That was nothing to worry about. But would they be secretly disappointed that she had turned down her shot at the Ivy Leagues? Her father was a Princeton graduate, himself… wouldn't he be just a little disappointed?

She'd talked these things through, with JM. And her roommate had given a solid, if emotion based, response to each. And she found herself believing. 

But she had to be sure. She couldn't stay for Scott. It was the biggest mistake anyone could make, choosing a school for a young relationship that might never fly. Everyone knew that.

Only… she had a feeling it would fly, if it had a chance.

But no way. Not for him.

For her.

"Reasons to go," Jeanne-Marie continued. "Number one- Full ride. Number two- Ivy Leagues. Number three- A new experience. Number four- To make your family proud… Jeanne, are you sure that's a good reason?"

Jean furrowed her brow at the other girl. "Of course it is. They are my family."

"Well… you said you don't want to stay for Scott, but for yourself, _non_?"

She nodded, "Right."

"So why would you consider going for them? Shouldn't all of these be about you, as well?"

Jean just stared at her. Part of her wanted to tell Jeanne-Marie that she couldn't understand, not until next year when she'd have to make the same decision. She couldn't know…

But part of her knew damn well that JM understood. They'd talked enough since she'd come here to know that Jeanne-Marie, though highly emotional and sometimes a slave to it, understood people. And she understood love, and being honest. So it would be unfair to discount that…

And really, she was right.

Jean pulled at her hair, raking a hand through it impatiently. God, she just wanted this to be over. Just wanted to make her choice and move on, just make some sort of action toward her goal. Stop turning things over and over.

"I want to stay," she heard herself say, suddenly.

Jeanne-Marie smiled, a wide, beautiful, genuine smile. 

God, had that really been aloud?

"Jeanne… I'm so happy!" Her friend reached across the table and took both her hands in her own. And she even looked a little misty-eyed, actually. Those electric blue eyes seemed foggy and a little wet.

Jean squeezed her hands, and took a deep breath.

And found that she felt much better. Just knowing. She shot a glance back over at the window table, and found that Scott was looking directly at her. She blinked, almost looked away as her stomach dropped.

And saw him smile at her. Tentatively. But it was a smile. 

So she smiled back, and squeezed Jeanne-Marie again, and Scott went back to laughing at something JP was saying. 

She'd have to make him take her out somewhere nice. To celebrate. Maybe she could borrow that tank top Jeanne-Marie had, with the ribbons woven into the straps…

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


(Ok, ok, back to JP and Pietro for a few after this. For better or for worse. Gonna start to get hot up in here. I'll try and post more soon, but I'm moving house tomorrow, so let's just see how fast I can get this computer online! 

I had some major issues posting this one, because I lost my edit and had to go back and find it. Sorry if there are a few mistakes, but I may have to fix it up again! Much love –Beaubier)


	5. Happy Birthday

Happy Birthday

_Wherein Wanda and Jeanne-Marie have a plan._

_Telltale Quote: You and me, we're like the Seven-Eleven.–Pietro Maximoff_

"No way, I'm not going over there to hang out with the X-Geeks. Forget it."

Wanda rolled her eyes at her pouting sibling, resisting an urge to smack him around and snap him out of this sulk. She'd tried everything, but he'd barely left the house in the past few days, claiming boredom was responsible for his mood, but refusing to do anything about it.

And he would not, under any circumstances, talk about Jean-Paul Beaubier. The minute his name came up, Pietro left the room. Even Freddy had noticed. 

Never a good sign.

She honestly wasn't sure why she cared, aside from the fact that he was just hanging around making her miserable all the time. And he was _really _good at making her miserable. Whining, pouting, monopolizing the television… he excelled at being irritating. At least when he had someone to hang out with, someone who could tolerate him, some of the burden was lifted off his housemates. Someone who could keep him entertained for more than fifteen minutes.

Not that she needed to see him happy. Pietro was a jerk, and probably didn't deserve to be happy, or to have friends. 

Right?

Well… whatever. Anyhow, he was making her crazy, and she wanted him out of the house.

"Look, it's going to be lame, but at least it'll get you out of the house. And Jesus, it's Kitty's birthday. _And _the Beaubiers'."

He ignored her, and continued watching the TV. 

"Pietro."

Again, he ignored her. 

"_Pietro_!"

"Jesus, Wanda, _what_?" He finally turned to look at her, grinding his teeth and glaring. 

She just stared at him for a moment, at a loss, having forgotten what she wanted his attention for in the first place, other than to make certain he was still breathing. "At least let me take the present to him."

Pietro's eyes narrowed, "To who?"

She shook her head, frustrated. She'd promised Jeanne-Marie that she would try to get Pietro to come, so they could find a way to make their brothers speak again. A difficult task, since they refused to stay in the same building, let alone the same room, for more than two minutes at a time. But at this rate, she knew it was hardly going to happen. The best she could do would be to give Jean-Paul whatever the hell the mysterious present was that Pietro had been so proud of before their fight. 

She didn't know why she should care. It wasn't like they were at all like the Beaubiers, who took care of each other. She didn't even _like _Pietro…

But look at him. He looked angry, but she was too smart to fall for it. Pietro was too much a baby not to miss the attention he had been getting from Jean-Paul. He was depressed, not angry.

And ok, yeah… she felt bad for him. 

She missed Jean-Paul anyhow. Things were so quiet without him around. 

"To Jean-Paul Beaubier, your once upon a time best friend," she finally informed him. "You were so excited about the present you got, might as well give it to him, right?"

He just looked at her for a minute, expressionless. Breathing. 

She was about to ask him if he was alright, it was so out of character for him to remain so silent, when he finally said, "Yeah, whatever. NotlikeIwantit."

She furrowed her brow at him, bit her lip for just a second. "Pietro…,"

"Wanda," he raised his eyebrows, expectantly. Almost as if he… wanted her to say something that'd make it better. 

She couldn't, of course. 

But for a moment, she really wished she could. "If you change your mind, we'll be there all evening."

Again, he just looked at her for a moment. 

She knew him fairly well. He was pretty easy to read. But sometimes, she had no idea what he was thinking. 

"It's on the nightstand."

For a moment, she had no idea what he was talking about. But then, she remembered, "Oh, the present."

He nodded, "It's wrapped. Don't tell him it's from me."

She cocked her head at him, eyed him carefully. But he was still utterly expressionless. "Why don't you want him to know?"

He shrugged, and looked back to the TV. "He'll know. Once he opens it. He won't open it if he knows it's from me though."

"How do you know that?"

"I know, Wanda."

Again, she eyed him. But he wasn't giving away a thing. He just looked… determined, really. "Ok… whatever you say. Like I said—,"

"You'll be there all night, I know." But this time, it wasn't particularly rude. Really, it was almost soft. 

He still hadn't admitted to her, or to anyone, as far as she knew, what the little fight with JP had been over. She only knew because JM had told her. One major difference between Jean-Paul and Pietro was that JP actually had other friends. Pietro pretty much had… well, JP. And her, but she was more like… an uneasy ally, at the best of times. Obviously not close enough to confide in about something like this. 

Which, for some reason, bothered her. It seemed to her that they had been close, once. But she couldn't really think of when, or how. Or _why_, for that matter, since he was such an insufferable brat all the time. 

But she had too many problems of her own to think she could fix her brother's in so short a time anyhow.Particularly when they were his own goddamn fault. 

  


Jeanne-Marie stared, wide-eyed, at the cake Jean had placed in front of her and Jean-Paul. Her brother was covering his face and laughing, albeit quietly, and she could feel her own face flushing pink. Kitty was grinning at her stupidly, clapping her hands over her own cake.

The culprit was obvious—Kitty had told. Jeanne-Marie and Jean-Paul had agreed that they did not want a big show made over their birthday, but Kitty had found her out. She had agreed to keep it quiet…

But JM should've known how well that secret would stay hidden. She shook her head at her friend, laughing over the cake, decorated with a huge blue and white star like a flash of light, and the words _Happy Birthday Jeanne-Marie and Jean-Paul_. Kitty winked and smiled hugely. 

"_Marde_," her brother swore beside her, "who did you tell?"

"Kitty," she laughed at the pink flush in his pointed ears. Jean-Paul was rarely shy, but he had been adamant that no one should make in issue of their 18th. 

Still, he laughed. "Figures."

As it turned out, people had bought them presents. Roberto had given her the most beautiful sketch pad, with a watercolor pad to match, along with boxes of charcoals and brushes. He knew how excited she was to start art classes in the fall at their high school. Jean gave her a scarf, silken soft, that would match her nice "going out" clothes, and Kitty a new charm for her bracelet (that made a letter "A," a star, an "X," and a Quebec flag thus far, plus the new one, a quill pen, from Kit.) Bobby made her an ice sculpture and put it by her place at the table, a beautiful little cluster of stars that reflected the light so prettily, and Wanda brought her a funky tin of four sparkling lip glosses, tinted from dark red to clear. Jean-Paul got a new black leather belt from Scott, fit for a rock star, which had made her brother shake his head and laugh, and a DVD of Pirates of the Caribbean from Rogue, due to their shared love of Johnny Depp. Todd, Fred, Lance and Wanda jointly presented him with a bag full of junk food and caffeinated pop that made all of the X-Men groan. 

Everyone was laughing, eating cake, and talking about the gifts, both theirs and the ones Kitty had received (JM had given her a charm for her own bracelet, one of a black cat), when Jeanne-Marie suddenly felt a weight in her lap. She looked up, quickly, and Wanda was at her ear, whispering in that low, husky tone she had. "From Pietro, for JP. Don't tell him who, just give it to him."

She nodded, somewhat relieved. She'd been busy today since everyone had found out it was her birthday as well as Kitty's. But despite all the pool games, dancing, running, jumping, and playing, it would've been difficult not to notice the oppressive lack of Pietro Maximoff. Everyone had noticed, most likely. The rest of the Brotherhood had come, after all. And in the past weeks, Pietro had become such a fixture at Jean-Paul's side, it was difficult not to feel his absence.

But Jean-Paul had managed a few smiles today, despite his recent bout of extreme sourness. And perhaps this present from Pietro, whatever it was, would somehow make up for the fact that he hadn't come himself. She'd really been hoping Wanda could convince him to come, so they could find a way to get them talking again…

Oh well. Some things were not to be. So she slid the package Wanda had placed in her lap, wrapped in plain brown paper with only the letters "JP" on the side, in front of her brother. "One last present."

He looked over at her, from where he had been talking with Alex, who was complaining about his foul smelling chlorine removal shampoo (amazing how _green _Havok's blond hair could get, after he'd been in the pool a few days, really). "What's this?"

She shrugged, knowing she looked innocent, but that he would see through it. "Not from me. Has your name on it, though."

He furrowed his brow and fingered the string tied around the package dubiously. "Sure it's mine?"

Alex laughed at this, "Dude, it says JP. Who else would it be for?"

Jean-Paul shrugged, and pulled off the string, then ripped the paper down the center.

And stopped dead. Just froze, staring at the thing under the wrapping.

Jeanne-Marie, curious now, leaned in, and looked at the gift. It was a red leather-bound book, with a golden embossed cover. _Le Morte D'Arthur_. She read the title aloud, and felt her stomach drop.

Only, it wasn't her stomach that was dropping. It was Jean-Paul's. And she could feel it coming from him, his reaction to the book was so strong.

She looked over at him again, concerned, and caught him taking a deep breath, trying to regain composure from something or other. 

Whatever this book was, it was obviously important to him. And somehow, Pietro had known. 

Silently, she hoped it was important in a good way. Because if it was, there was still hope of her brother coming out of his sulk (as much as he ever did, anyhow), and agreeing to enter into the same room with Pietro Maximoff.

If it was bad, however…

Well, she didn't much want to think about what that would mean, if it was bad. 

From the look of Jean-Paul, however, who was now swallowing hard, and trying to right shoulders that seemed to want to slump against his will, it was not bad at all. In fact, he felt… upset, but in a good way. Almost kind of… warm. "What is it?" She whispered to him, leaning on one shoulder to watch as he opened the book and flipped through gently.

"Just a book I used to love."

"Do you know who it's from?" She asked, although she had a feeling he must. 

"Yes," he replied, light eyes rising to find Wanda across the table. 

Jeanne-Marie watched her brother's lips form the word, _Pietro_.

And she saw Wanda nod.

Jean-Paul's jaw twitched, and his nostrils flared just for a moment. And then he was composed again. 

"Whatcha got, JP?" Rogue was coming up behind them, leaning on his shoulder now.

But Jeanne-Marie had seen enough. Whatever it was about this book, it definitely meant something to her brother, and knowing that Pietro had thought to give it to him had both pleased him and upset him greatly. 

For her part, she was impressed. She would not have thought Pietro had the sense, or the depth of character or feeling, to do something like that. 

She slipped away to find Wanda to discover whether it would be for better or for worse. 

  


Honestly, he'd thought he was done with Pietro Maximoff. After all, they had never gotten very close. They just hung out and raised hell. Not as if they _knew _anything about each other. Not as if his crush had ever been more than some kind of lustful teenage fantasy. He'd always known that, from the beginning. They screwed around together, and that was it. Caused trouble. Pietro never cared about what was going on in his head. He could've cared what was going on in Pietro's, of course, if he was being honest with himself, but he would never have asked. Why bother, when the interest would never be reciprocated? It wasn't a _real _friendship, like he had with Rogue, or even with Jeanne-Marie. Hell, even with Scott, sometimes. A friendship where they were actually interested in each other, personally. No, Pietro was just a "functional friend"—someone to hang out with, but never to actually _talk _to. And now he'd gone too far, and they were friends no more. End of story.

Jean-Paul sighed, staring at the book on the table in front of him. 

The book that blew his "not a real friend" theory out of the water. Not that he'd believed it in the first place, but at least before he hadn't had material evidence.

It was just a little thing, of course. Stupid to put so much weight on a thing like a book. But something shifted inside of him uncomfortably, every time he looked at it, Some expression wanted to appear on his face, something in his eyes, something in his throat. 

But so stupid. Pietro had no idea what it meant, or what he'd been going through the first time he read it. Had no idea that it made him think of home, of happier times. Of a time when he'd still had an imagination to speak of. Still been something of a child, if he ever really had been one at all.

But it did prove one thing. And he'd never truly believed, before, that Pietro had listened to a word he'd said. 

It had been a month ago, at least, when they'd been at the book store, and he'd been looking at the book. From Rogue, from his sister, he would've expected something like this.

Not from self-absorbed, obnoxious, hyperactive, impatient, snot-nosed, narcissistic Pietro Maximoff.

Whom he happened to miss an awful lot.

Fuck if he'd admit it to anyone, of course. But sitting there, the entire Institute buzzing with people; the X-Men, the Brotherhood, family and friends, everyone but _him_, he had to admit it was hard to concentrate. At least, hard to concentrate on anything but the fact that _he _was missing. Jean-Paul didn't want to be sitting here, with everyone staring at him, telling him happy birthday. He felt like flying away, fast. Too fast for any of them to see or follow. He felt like running. Just running away. 

He told himself the urge to run away, to get free, was because he didn't want to give Pietro a second chance. But really, it was because he _did_. 

Someone leaned down, over his shoulder, put lips to his ear. "What did he give you, tiger?" 

Wanda.

He pointed, toward the book on the table. People were clearing out, watching Bobby do his pool tricks now. Only Jeanne-Marie and Roberto were still nearby, smiling at each other sickeningly, holding hands and whispering. 

Wanda leaned over and picked the book up, then sat in Jeanne-Marie's chair next to him. Startlingly close. 

Must have been something about the Maximoffs. 

She flipped through it slowly for a moment, as he watched her punk-pretty face grow thoughtful. She chewed the inside of her cheek as she considered. He'd never noticed that about her before, that she did that. When she reached the end of the book, she looked up at him. "What's it mean?"

Jean-Paul looked at her for a moment, somehow tempted. He liked Wanda a lot. She was funny, sarcastic, loyal and intelligent. Pretty much his pre-requisites for close friends. Not that he'd had many of those, in his life, but the two or three had all been those, before all other things. But after a moment of consideration, he just shrugged, "I don't even think he knows what it means to me. He just knew it was important."

She nodded, thoughtful expression still in place, "Now that's unexpected."

"No shit."

"He's lonely."

Jean-Paul raised his eyebrows at her. Since when did Wanda concern herself with Pietro's emotional well-being? Physically, he knew she was fiercely protective of her brother—he'd seen that much when Pietro and Jeanne-Marie had been kidnapped by Sinister. But this was something new.

Another reason to like Wanda Maximoff. She was full of surprises. And Jean-Paul always liked a little mystery in his friends, as well. 

But the good points of his sister hardly excused the idiocy of Pietro. "Then maybe he should apologize."

Wanda rolled her eyes, formerly soft, raspy voice now turned outright sarcastic. "Right, because you would."

"I wouldn't have said… the things he said," Jean-Paul looked away from her now, not really wanting to think about it any more. It shouldn't have upset him as much as it had. He'd been called much worse, been put through the wringer on more fronts than he'd care to remember in his short life. But, for some reason, hearing it from Pietro had… pissed him the fuck off.

Wanda wasn't having it, however. Not that he'd expected her to, really. She shook her head, angrily, "You two deserve each other. You're both so fucking hard-headed, you'll be miserable before you sacrifice your precious pride. Someone has to go first."

She was right, of course. But he just stared at the table, stonily, unwilling to admit to it. Wishing he could stand up, walk away and not care.

But he couldn't. And the reason why was sitting right there in front of him, in red leather, on the table. 

"Look, he did want you to have it," her tone was softer now, "he just couldn't come. You understand that, right?"

Of course he did. He wouldn't have come either, if he'd been such a horrible prick. He would've done exactly the thing Pietro was doing now, avoiding him entirely. "I do. But maybe we're better off this way."

Wanda whacked him in the arm, hard, and stood up. "Yeah, maybe you are. Later, JP. Happy Birthday."

He looked up at her, rubbing his arm. That had hurt, really. 

And her face suddenly softened. "I miss you."

He sighed, and stopped rubbing at his arm. But what could he say, how could he explain? She wouldn't understand, and he didn't particularly want her to. Hell, he wasn't even sure _he _understood. "Wanda…,"

She rolled her eyes, in another sudden mood swing. "Forget it. Come on, asshole, let's go get in the pool, it's hot as hell out here." She extended a hand to him.

He managed a half-smile and accepted, letting her pull him up, and keeping hold of her hand as they walked together toward the sound of splashing and yelling. Small, delicate hand. Felt odd, as if it shouldn't belong to someone with Wanda's immense personality. Gentle grip. Cool and dry, but soft. Seemed as if her hand should be rough, hot. Like her temper. 

He looked over at her, and her dark blue eyes, not so different from her impossible brother's, caught his. "I miss you too," he admitted. 

"I know," she shrugged.

And he did miss her. Hanging around, bugging her. She didn't have many friends, and neither did he. At least, he really hadn't, before he'd come here, met Rogue, Pietro, Wanda. 

"Maybe we can talk about it later, huh? I mean, maybe we can go hang out? Tomorrow?" She offered, surprising him entirely. Wanda rarely made such openly friendly gestures. In fact, he couldn't really remember her making one like this since he'd known her. 

And he appreciated it. "Yes, of course," he squeezed her hand gently, still wrapped in his. And they walked a few moments in a comfortable sort of silence.

"I don't get why it's such a big deal," she told him, as they reached the poolside and started stripping off outer layers of clothing, down to their bathing suits "I mean, so you had a fight. Big fucking deal right? You're friends, you make up, you move on. It's not the end of the world."

Her back was turned to him as she unbuttoned her shirt, but he thought he caught something in her voice. "Don't know," he answered, noncommittally, throwing his own shirt on to one of the lawn loungers nearby. "Guess he just stepped over the line."

She turned to face him, sliding out of her black flared pants, leaving her standing in a stunning dark crimson bikini that exposed more skin than he'd expected she would be comfortable with. He found himself admiring her long, powerful arms and legs, the rise and fall of substantial cleavage, and an expanse of pale, curving stomach. Nothing scrawny or meek about the girl; it was a body that could easily hurt any of the boys floating in the pool, in fact. Jean-Paul may not have been terribly interested in women, but that didn't mean he couldn't see, or appreciate, when one was drop-dead gorgeous. Like a work of art, really. Nice to look at, but nothing he was terribly interested in touching.

"Guess so," she shrugged, utterly unconscious of the stares her little red suit was eliciting from the crowd of hyper-hormonal teenage boys nearby.

Suddenly, he experienced a flash of the strong fraternal protective instinct he'd discovered since he'd met Jeanne-Marie. "_Mon dieu_, Wanda, hurry and get in the water, or get a towel."

She cocked her head at him, still totally unaware of the effect her exposed curves were having on her audience. "What?"

Somewhere in the pool, he could have sworn he heard Todd Tolansky choking to death.

  


"Wait, wait," Pietro shook his head. "_You _came to say thank you?"

Jeanne-Marie nodded at him, and took him by the hand. He let her, but gave her a suspicious sideways glare before locking his fingers into hers. "You know my brother, he is too stubborn. But he was so happy, when he saw that you sent him the book."

Pietro swallowed, hard. It had been days since he'd blown up at Jean-Paul over absolutely fucking nothing. Over some stupid nameless fear in the pit of his stomach. But he still felt like a real prick.

Which was saying quite a bit. He hadn't even known that the feeling he was experiencing was guilt until Wanda pointed out to him that he _looked_ guilty. It was not a feeling he was familiar with. At all. But it would explain why he'd actually wanted to sit and wallow in his horrible memories for a few days, torturing himself.

And looking at Jeanne-Marie Beaubier didn't help the guilt at all. Jesus, she looked like her brother. Just more delicate. High cheekbones, sharp eyes, full lips, all of that was there. But Jeanne-Marie's face was just a little rounder, her eyelashes a little longer, her lips more curved, her bones thinner. Just the female version of his once-best-friend's face, really. 

And it disturbed him just a little that he would've preferred to see the male version, at the moment. 

But then, that's what this whole fucking mess was about. Jean-Paul disturbed him for a lot of reasons, really.

But yeah. Pietro missed him. 

He missed him, but he wasn't about to sound like a fucking pussy about it. "Whatever. I bought it before, and I figured he might as well have it. Wanda asked me if she could take it, I told her yeah."

Jeanne-Marie squeezed his hand lightly, and pulled him further down the road, toward the park. She'd insisted that they come out on a walk, even though it was hot as hell outside again today. "Did he tell you why he loves that book?"

Pietro shrugged, "No. Just saw the look on his face. And he said he loved it, so I figured… whatever, JM. Just let it go, ok? I'mtiredofthinkingaboutit."

She glanced over at him.

And he didn't much care for the look on her face. Something like sympathy. And he didn't fucking need sympathy. God, people were acting like someone had died, since he and JP stopped talking. Big fucking deal already. 

"Where are we going?" He asked her, knowing he sounded impatient. 

"I want ice cream," She shrugged. "You didn't come to my birthday party, so I thought you could buy me some."

He raised an eyebrow at her. They weren't friends, not really. But they did share… something. They'd been held captive together, by Sinister. It was only for a day, before their friends had come for them, but in that time… they'd both been through some shit. And no one understood but what that was like but him and JM. He'd seen her flip in and out of personalities more than most people change underwear. Seen her scared, shaking, crying. Seen her in charge, businesslike, a real fucking superhero. Felt her hands holding him up, as his body was wracked with electric pain from Sinister's machine. Caught her when they threw her in the cell after she received the same treatment. 

So yeah, he could at least buy her some goddamn ice cream, after they'd been through all that together. He had fuck all to do at home, anyhow. Sitting around waiting for someone to bother, then deciding he didn't even have the heart to annoy them. Waiting for Wanda to ask the right questions. 

Waiting for their father to show up and carry them away again so he could prove himself?

Fuck that. Never again.

God, _god_, he hated being bored. _Stop thinking, Maximoff!_

"Yeah, ok, let's get ice cream then."

She managed to keep him talking the entire way to the park, about a twenty minute walk, as slow as she made him go. When they reached the ice cream vendor by the lake there, she happily ordered a chocolate ice cream cone. He went for strawberry, in a cup. The usual. 

He was hardly listening to her, but he was surprised to realize that he actually _was _happy to have the company. It actually made his mind stop turning over the past. And it was nice to leave the house, really. In fact, he was feeling a little better already. Sitting here on a bench, watching people feed geese, slowing himself down to the lazy slow motion of late August. Almost made him remember what it was he liked about going outside, aside from the fact that he had room to run. That was a given. 

"I guess this is nice," he said aloud, after a few moments of happy silence between them. "Maybe Wanda's right, that I've been sulking."

JM nodded wisely at him, her dark hair falling into her face. She carefully moved it out of the way of her ice cream cone, and took a bite before replying, "Yes, she is. Your sister is always right, Pietro. Sisters know these things."

He rolled his eyes, "Suresure."

She looked up, behind him suddenly, and blinked. Like something had caught her attention. "Ah, Pietro, I have to go for a moment. I'll be back, ok?"

He began to look behind him, wondering what had grabbed her interest so quickly, but his own attention was grabbed by her speeding up and taking off toward the ice cream vendor again…

And stopping right beside her brother, only yards from where Pietro sat, who was holding ice cream for himself and someone else as well.

Pietro closed his eyes and groaned inwardly. A fucking set-up. She'd been blocking his view before, so he hadn't seen Jean-Paul coming, but it was so perfectly clear now. And he had a sneaking suspicion that if he turned around, he'd see Wanda waiting for JP to bring her ice cream. 

A fucking _set-up_.

He knew Wanda had been concerned, but he really wouldn't have pegged her for this kind of cheesy stunt. Seemed like something she'd heartlessly ridicule, really.

She must've been _really _desperate to get him out of the house. 

When he opened his eyes again, JM was gone, along with half of the ice cream JP had been holding. Something told him the girls were long gone. And he was staring at Jean-Paul, stony-faced in his usual GQ summer wear. Fitted black T-Shirt and strategically faded two-hundred dollar jeans from the Diesel store he made his monthly pilgrimage to in the city. 

There was a moment where Pietro panicked. A moment where all he could think of was turning around and running away. The irrational something in him was afraid again. 

But Jean-Paul's face suddenly softened. And he smiled, wryly.

Purely on accident, Pietro smiled back, and shook his head helplessly.

Jean-Paul seemed to sigh a little, his broad shoulders slumped. He took the ten or so steps needed to come to the bench quickly, and sat down next to Pietro, shaking his head and looking out at the pond. An obvious diversion, just so he didn't have to look at Pietro. But, at least it was something. "Looks like we've been tricked."

Pietro gave a little half-laugh, half-sigh. "Yeah."

Quiet, for a minute. Jean-Paul watching the geese, licking at his ice cream cone ponderously. Pietro glancing around, stomach nervous, pretending not to be watching the other boy. Trying to think of what to say. What did he even _want _to say? His mind was racing, too hard to slow it down to explain anything. Angry. Confused. Smiling. Content. Touching. Laughing. Trouble. Fire. Friend. Nine trains of thought, that ended up wrecking within a second. Nothing worth saying, nothing worth thinking for longer than that.

And he sure as fuck didn't want to say he was sorry.

"It was nice of you," Jean-Paul was saying, suddenly, very quiet but still intelligible. "The book. I was surprised you remembered."

"I'm not always a dickhead," Pietro replied, faster than anyone else could've understood.

Jean-Paul laughed at that, and looked over at him again. Sharp, icy gaze mercilessly holding his own. Like he'd never let him break free. "No, I guess you're not."

Felt good, sitting there. Every train of thought ended at that. Didn't matter why, didn't matter how. Just felt good. Fuck it. Fuck it all. "Gonna make me say it, or what?"

The darker boy considered this, taking another thoughtful lick of his suspiciously green ice cream. "Would you mean it?"

Pietro pulled his eyes away now, and started watching the geese intently. He wasn't sure if he'd say it, even if JP wanted him to. Sure, he was sorry he'd done it. But feeling it was one thing. Saying it was another entirely. But he _did _feel it… so, "Yeah, I would."

"Don't say it," was the immediate answer. "I wouldn't want to say it."

"True," Pietro took another bite of his own ice cream. He should've known that JP would understand. He understood a lot of things, without Pietro needing to tell him. 

They sat for a few more minutes, eating in silence. But this time, it wasn't so uncomfortable. The panic was gone. A bit uneasy, perhaps. The sounds of kids playing around them. The feeling that they'd been set up. The definite weight of that _something _between them that had made Pietro flip out on his friend in the first place. Something tugging at his stomach. Something disturbingly comfortable. Something like standing on top of a very high cliff, and feeling gravity calling to you to jump off, pulling you down and in. Made his knees weak, his head dizzy, his stomach flip.

But all in all, not so bad. Better than before, anyhow. "I've been really fucking bored," he admitted, finally, when his ice cream was done in.

Jean-Paul was taking the last bites of his cone now, watching some kids play near the pond now. "Yeah, me too. Rogue won't let me have coffee, and Scott makes me order decaf."

Pietro snickered at that. "Thought we were skipping the coffee next time."

Jean-Paul shot him a sideways glance, "Oh, we will. What are you doing Friday?"

"Whatdidyouhaveinmind?" Pietro fought the urge to bounce in excitement. Holy fuck, he needed to get out, do something, run around, have some fun. Trapped in the house, going out to run periodically, bored, bored, _bored_. 

His friend shrugged, "I can think of a way to slow you down for a bit. But not tomorrow. I'm taking Jeanne-Marie and Rogue shopping."

Pietro grinned, "Good enough for me."

And they looked at each other for just a moment. A million things were flying through Pietro's head; some good, some bad, some he had no fucking clue about. "So we're back in business?" he finally asked.

Jean-Paul nodded, "Yeah."

Pietro thought, for a moment, and decided that some sort of gesture was needed here. So he held out his hand. "Friends?"

The other boy looked at his hand, and then took it in his own, and shook it, "Yeah. We are."

They let go quickly, once they shook on it, and both stood. Pietro glanced around quickly, but there was no sign of either of their sisters in the area. "The girls got out of here fast, looks like."

Jean-Paul rolled his eyes, "I'm sure they're very proud of themselves."

"Whatever. Sometimes we need to be kicked in the ass. Since we're back in business, they'll be sorry soon enough."

"Pietro, it's funny," Jean-Paul started walking back toward the path that would take them home again, since they'd obviously been left to their own devices in the park. "But somehow I feel like we were never _really _finished. I was just… angry for a while."

Pietro considered this for a moment, following. He'd honestly thought he'd done it, ruined their friendship entirely. But as much as some perverse, frightened part of him had wanted that… really, all he wanted was his friend back. Didn't matter about all that other stuff. It was stupid anyhow. No, JP was right. It was a temporary hiatus, maybe, but never a real threat. They hadn't been together, but he'd sure as fuck missed him. And to hell with what that might mean. The two of them, they were pretty much unstoppable. "You know, JP, you're right. You and me, we're like the Seven-Eleven. We're not always doing business, but we're always open."

  


Wanda sighed, then smiled. 

"Not so bad, _non_?"

She turned to face Jeanne-Marie and nodded. "Not bad. They'll be tearing through the house like a natural disaster in no time."

The other girl then surprised the shit out of her by throwing her arms around her and hugging her. Tight. "Jean-Paul will be so much happier now. Thank you Wanda, we make a good pair."

Stunned, Wanda looked around quickly, then put her arms around JM lightly and patted her on the back awkwardly. "Um… right. I'm just glad Pietro is off the fucking couch."

Jeanne-Marie laughed, a sweet, silvery sound, and pulled away almost as quickly as she'd thrown herself at her. "Listen, my brother is taking Rogue and me to the mall tomorrow, to look for school clothes. Do you want to come with us?"

Wanda shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and furrowed her brow. Jeanne-Marie was a nice girl and all… but they'd never really _hung out_. Still… she could use some clothes. And if JP was taking his sister and Rogue, it was a pretty good opportunity, really. "Yeah, ok."

"Good, you can show me where you found those pants," Jeanne-Marie took her arm now, sliding her own slender one around Wanda's, and pulled her in the direction of home.

  
  
  
  
  
  


AN: So I spent today moving. I'm about to drop dead. And I wrote this nice long AN a minute ago, individually answering each and every review, from TKD, the Rogue Witch, Peanut, Shaman Dani, SilverCaladan, Guidi, and Fata Morgana...

And I just lost it. I'm ready to drop... I'll do it next time, how's that sound? In the mean time, I love you all. A lot. Thank you for the encouragement, and the help along the way. You too, Sue. *Tackle*

If you want to see what I figure the kids look like, check out my little character sketches for the Beaubiers-- 

Thanks to SilverCaladan for pointing the place out to me! Next time around, we're done with this sappy shit. Time for hardcore... well ok, not hardcore anything.

Not yet anyhow. But we're getting closer!

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. Glass Onion

WARNING: This story contains casual drug use and slashy themes. If such things offend you, you might want to skip this chapter!

(If you're like me, and that sounds like heaven, read on, by all means!)

  
  
  
  
  


Glass Onion 

_Wherein Jean-Paul teaches Pietro how to slow down._

_Telltale Quote: Shouldn't be putting things in my face, Pietro. I have an oral fixation. –Jean-Paul Beaubier _

  


"You've done this before, _non_?"

Pietro squirmed, not wanting to admit to his ignorance, but told the truth, anyhow. "Just once."

Jean-Paul nodded, tapping the side of the small glass pipe he was holding with his lighter. "Good. That means it'll hit you hard."

"Yeah… didn't do _that _much the first time."

"Didn't for me either."

"I heard that was a myth."

"Me too. But I'll go with experience, on this one."

Pietro shrugged. Made sense. Jean-Paul was pretty good at making sense, really. He peered into the bowl, extremely curious as to the process involved in the whole thing. Last time it had been a joint offered to him, in the bathroom at school. He'd accepted, and coughed, and felt a little light headed and tight-throated after a few drags. Other than that, nothing much. 

But JP had assured him it would alleviate some of the stress of controlling his hyper systems, at least for a few hours, and that sounded good to him. So whatever.

"Why is it red?" He poked a finger at the thing, which contained a mash of mostly green dried leaves, dry unrecognizable bundles really, with some virulently red… hairs or something in it. 

"Because it's good," JP told him, solemnly. "Trust me, mate, you'll thank me for this."

"You brought it from Canada?" Pietro raised an eyebrow at him.

"Yeah, in my glove box. Don't know what the fuck I was thinking, but it worked."

"So… that means it's like two months old."

Jean-Paul rolled his eyes, "The shit keeps. And anyhow, I had it in the freezer. I know what I'm doing, Pietro."

Pietro wrinkled up his nose, unconvinced. "The freezer at the Institute?"

The other boy shrugged, "No one looks under the asparagus. Honestly, who the fuck would eat frozen asparagus anyhow?"

Pietro certainly had no idea.

  


It was amazing that he wasn't completely addicted to this shit. He leaned on Pietro, a warm figure beside him, and sighed in contentment. So lovely, to be at rest. To have time to concentrate on the sensations he took for granted every day. The softness of his shirt on his skin. The press of someone warm at his side. The way it felt to breathe, to feel air filling his lungs, like it was cleansing off the burn from the smoke he'd subjected them to. Every swallow, every blink, every change in the shadow and light in the room. Fascinating and beautiful.

"I feel a little dizzy…"

He looked over at his silver-haired friend, who was blinking slowly at the window, and recognized that look in his glazed eyes. 

Slowly, he moved, pulling himself out of his state of complete rest, back against the bed, side against Pietro, and crawled to sit before the other boy. Jean-Paul mirrored his Indian-style position, and put his hands on Pietro's knees, which were touching his own. "Here, look at me. Just look at something stable, you'll feel better. You're thinking too much, man."

A lazy grin spread across Pietro's normally wicked looking face. And he looked very young, at that moment. "Not thinking enough."

"Concentrating too much on your body," Jean-Paul shook his head, grinning back. He'd never really noticed how funny his voice sounded, and it really made him want to laugh. "It makes you sick to your stomach, when it's so slow and deliberate. Sometimes, I watch trees. That helps."

Pietro giggled, "You watch trees?"

"Trees are very stable," He announced, with much sincerity. They were, after all. Any time he felt sick to his stomach, from concentrating too much on his heartbeat or his stomach turning when he got high, trees seemed to help.

Pietro giggled again, "Yeah, but you're not."

"More stable than you, _mon ami_," He felt himself smiling. He really didn't have complete control over his expression at the moment. He liked to think he usually did, but really… why did he bother with that anyhow? I mean, who cares, right? So what if people knew when he was happy or sad or—

"Yeah ok, you kinda are," the other boy cut into his thoughts. "Jean-Paul, you're a bad influence."

"Not me!" he objected, suddenly giving in to laughter, "I'm an X-Man! I'm the good guy here!"

"Good guy my ass. Dude… I'm fucked up," Pietro was laughing too now, covering his face.

Jean-Paul had a long standing theory— and since he'd been getting high since he was roughly twelve years old he'd had plenty of time to develop it— that bud tended to make everyone more perceptive about the people around them. It wasn't so much that it made them smarter, because it clearly made _him_ into a complete fuckwit. No one could argue with that. What it did was make him simple. Make him aware of only a few things around him, of a very finite list of information at once, rather than the droves of information that pummeled the senses normally. The list of things could change at random, of course, but while something was on that short list, it could be given a measure of attention he normally would not have been able to apply to just one thing when he wasn't utterly fucked up. 

This was part of why he was very careful about who he got high with. If the wrong person was around, and they were on his list of things to notice, he might see something about them he didn't like, and it would disturb him. His addled brain would linger on this one disturbing quality and ruin his buzz in short order, making him mildly paranoid (though he usually had no issues with paranoia) and thoroughly pissed off. He had been concerned about it, with Pietro. He seemed the type that would radiate paranoia and irritation. 

But he didn't. Looking at him now, completely focused on who he was, Jean-Paul could see that he was not really anything like what he'd originally thought. "You're very child-like, aren't you?"

Pietro laughed, and leaned back on the bed heavily, his knees pushing at Jean-Paul's. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean, you're just… you're not how I thought you were."

The other boy seemed to consider this. "Probably not."

"When I'm high, I'm more perceptive, selectively. You know, I pull my head out of my own ass, pay attention to other people. You're actually alright, aren't you?" He felt almost guilty for being surprised about it. The guy was supposed to be his friend, after all, no matter what kind of asshole moves he'd pulled in the recent past. But this thing he was seeing now, as Pietro smiled at him, was really rather astounding. He just looked… sweet. Sure he was an arrogant, loudmouth fuck. But even the loudmouth act was part of it. He was a bratty kid. Really, he was just a child, inside. Like one of the Lost Boys from Peter Pan, or something. Someone's fucking Lost Boy, that was what Pietro reminded him of. 

Which also explained the guy's lack of personal space issues. He was just… affectionate. Liked to be touched. Reassured by it. Like a kid. And there had been the book… 

Funny, all this time with him, and he'd never really noticed.

"Don't tell anyone," Pietro whispered, leaning forward just a bit and looking around conspiratorially. "Only you know, ok? It's our secret."

Jean-Paul suddenly switched from pensive to amused, and started laughing at the look on his friend's face. "You're a fucking nutcase, Pietro."

"That's why you love me! I'd be boring otherwise. But dude…," he was staring hard at Jean-Paul now, "That silver streak in your hair, that's nuts… You'd look weird without it."

He nodded solemnly, "Yes, I would."

Pietro reached out, and poked him in the forehead with a strange, wavering sort of precision.

Jean-Paul blinked. 

"Did that feel weird?"

Actually, it had. Didn't hurt, but felt rather intense. "Yes."

"My forehead… feels so weird." Pietro poked himself in the forehead now. 

Jean-Paul collapsed into giggles instantly.

  


"Ok, so I see what you mean about being more perceptive," Pietro was saying, slumped down a little further against the bed, his legs now stretched out over his friend's, who was still facing him, Indian style. His right over Jean-Paul's left, and his left over Jean-Paul's right. He hadn't felt the motivation to actually _move_, more than to stretch his legs like that,in quite some time. Now that JP had calmed him down, he was actually enjoying it. It was nice, not to have to be perpetually slowing himself down, and for such a long period of time.

Not that he had any sense of time right now, but he knew it had to have been an hour or something, that they'd been sitting there talking and laughing… at a normal pace, but it felt slow. Like he was swimming through something. Like they were underwater. 

"I feel so fucking smart right now. Like… all this shit that I never noticed."

Jean-Paul gave him another one of those wise nods he'd been throwing off, "_Oui_, uncanny isn't it?"

"Unnnnncanny," He agreed, poking at his friend's arm. Felt funny. Really hard, but kinda squishy. Like foam rubber or something. He'd never really thought about what people feel like before. Or what he felt like, really. He did find it hard to stay on one thing for too long, but while he was on that one thing… oh man was it cool.

"You're tickling me."

He stopped poking. "You're ticklish?"

"Don't mock me!" Jean-Paul feigned irritation. 

Pietro laughed at his face, screwed up like that, "You're such a girl," and sat up a bit straighter to poke him in the cheek.

Jean-Paul narrowed his eyes, turned his head, and bit Pietro's finger.

"Hey!" He started to jerk his finger away, but the other boy's teeth were clenched around it now, just above the second joint, and he'd have to scrape himself to pull it out. And he was laughing too hard at the innate weirdness of the situation to fight, anyhow. "Let me go!"

"Hassat seel?" Jean-Paul was obviously fighting laughter, but having better luck at controlling it than Pietro.

"Like you're biting me, man!" He giggled, wiggling the captive finger so it tapped against the roof of Jean-Paul's mouth.

Quickly, Jean-Paul's mouth collapsed around his finger. His pouty lips formed a seal, and his teeth let up, but his tongue pushed up now, soft and wet and trapping the finger against the top of his mouth.

Pietro felt his eyes go wide. His fingers were so sensitive, and he could… feel something. Jean-Paul's tongue curling around his finger. He could feel it with every nerve ending on his skin, individually.

He definitely could've rescued his finger out without injury now. 

Only… he didn't much want to. He was fascinated by the way it felt. The way it made his blood suddenly seem warmer, like it was heating up to match the heat inside of the other boy, flooding through his body. He could feel it moving inside of him, like fire.

He tore his eyes from his friend's lips, and looked him in the eye.

Jean-Paul shook his head like a petulant child, letting him know that he would not be letting go, despite his earlier request. And sucked at his finger, like there was no way he was letting go, pulling it in further. Making some sort of vague suggestion of something _very _dirty.

Unh… that tongue… that could do some serious damage. Or, more appropriately, some seriously amazing shit.

Felt so good. Suggested things so much better. Jean-Paul's tongue moved now, the tip of it sliding up the underside of his finger, then back down, again, with obvious implications. One of those upswept eyebrows arched, as he stared Pietro down fearlessly. It wasn't that thing he usually did, where he tried to make people nervous. It was something else. Like he was interested in Pietro's reaction. 

Pietro opened his mouth, to say something… anything…

And found that he, for once, had absolutely nothing to say.

Jean-Paul's lips parted now, and the pink tip of his tongue pushed between Pietro's finger and his own bottom teeth, pinning it against the top. Mesmerized, he watched as it slid down, and into the sensitive area between his fingers, massaging it slowly, leaving him wet there. He could feel the back of Jean-Paul's throat closing in as he sucked now, smooth and hot, his rough tongue gently pushing at his finger, his full lips just touching his hand, at his knuckles. He let his other fingers, at rest on Jean-Paul's face, brush him lightly, feeling the hard line of his cheekbone, then his jaw. Soft skin, hard lines. Something very intense coming off of him, something he couldn't quite articulate, in his mind. It made his stomach drop. 

He leaned forward, without meaning to, watching him, thinking of nothing but the feeling of it and the heat in his blood and where it was rushing. For a moment, completely, utterly focused. Taken by sensation.

Jean-Paul reached up, put his hand around Pietro's wrist, and slowly pulled away from him, sucking at his fingertip one last time, and letting his tongue flick at it before releasing it, finally. His face was turned downward, and he looked up, intense blue eyes through thick black eyelashes. 

"Feel that?" Was all he said, in a voice so low it was barely audible.

Sex. This guy, this man in front of him, his friend… he was just… sex. The sudden tug at his groin, when he spoke, that had been building the whole time, left no room for discussion. "I guess you're right," Pietro swallowed heavily managed to answer, swimming in that surreal high and a sudden lack of blood to his brain. "Everything feels pretty intense."

Expression undecipherable, JP nodded at him. Just watching with those icy eyes. Holding his wrist still, near to his lips. Radiating heat, through his hand, into Pietro.

His lips had Quicksilver's complete and undivided attention again, however. He leaned closer to them, feeling like he was in slow motion, not even realizing what it meant. Somehow, he wasn't sure exactly, he leaned forward enough, _they _leaned forward enough, that their lips met. It was partly like meeting a brick wall—totally uncompromising and strong, and partly like falling into something soft—warm and just slightly yielding to fit him. The feelings didn't match up, but they were both part of the same thing, somehow. Instantly, their lips parted under each other, and Pietro found himself delving into his best friend's mouth somewhat greedily with his own tongue. The mouth that had held him fascinated for longer than he could remember anything holding his attention in a long time. 

It was immediately a violent kiss, nothing sweet or careful about it. Just Pietro, running his tongue along the roof of Jean-Paul's mouth, obsessed with the wetness of it, the heat of it, the crush of JP's lips on his own. Nothing feminine about it, the way the other boy met him there, turning his head, pushing forward aggressively to take what he was offered. More dangerous. Demanding. Instantly hot and deep. Pietro had his eyes closed and couldn't think of what it meant, what they were doing. All he knew was that it was a hell of a rush, and Jean-Paul's mouth was so hot, and his tongue was so clever, and his lips were begging for this. It made Pietro's whole body so warm. His jeans too tight. His head felt like it was spinning because it just felt so _good._ Every single sensation, separate and singular, playing again and again through his addled brain. _So _good.

He was dying to get closer, to _feel _more. Wanted to reach out with his hands, but didn't know what to do. They were sitting too far apart. Jean-Paul's folded legs warm underneath him, his own legs thrown over them. Both of them leaning in, over Jean-Paul's lap. He could smell him, like clean and shampoo mixed with skin, taste him, like something smoky and wet and wonderful, feel him. But not enough. He started to push himself forward—

And Jean-Paul suddenly pulled back, just enough to part them. But not before closing his teeth down on Pietro's bottom lip, and pulling at it. Just a bit. 

Holy fuck. Hot.

And then, they were looking at each other again, breathing hard. 

There was absolutely no reality involved. Just the rushing of blood, his erection pushing at his now uncomfortable (or was it… more comfortable…?) jeans, and the look on Jean-Paul's face. And the feeling that he had to finish what he'd started because it _felt _so good. And his lips felt cold. Like he needed to do it again just to stay warm.

Jean-Paul took a deep breath, smooth face looking mildly stunned, but not too much. He was as fucked up as Pietro, after all. Then, very suddenly, it seemed, he was grinning lazily. "And there is today's lesson on how being high makes everything feel better!"

This sudden declaration snapped Pietro's concentration, which had still been focused mainly on the other boy's lips, instantly. And he was struck by the innate weirdness, and therefore hilarity of the situation. And started to giggle like a little girl. 

Jean-Paul leaned back, heaving another deep breath and still grinning, supporting his weight with both of his arms, "Yeah, keep laughing. Just remember that tomorrow when you can't look me in the eye, _mon ami_."

Pietro had a sudden urge to stick his tongue out at his friend. So he did. Then said, "Don't be stupid. It was good!"

Cause… it was. Jesus, it was. Although it had left him with a somewhat problematic, and very telling bulge at his fly… it was _good_.

"Oh, I noticed. Think of it as an experiment. You'll feel better about it in the morning."

"You're an idiot," He informed the other boy. Like he was going to give a fuck about it later. Hell, who was he to deny himself something he wanted?!

And really… it was kind of a relief. Now that he'd done it… felt like that'd been waiting to happen for a long time, really.

But enough about that. That'd take like… _so _long to think through right then.

Jean-Paul nodded, the smile never leaving his face, but turning a bit smug. "So it would seem. Shouldn't be putting things in my face, Pietro. I have an oral fixation."

Pietro stared at him, mouth open. Unable to think of anything to say to that. But damn… sex. How had he never noticed before that Jean-Paul practically broadcasted _sex_. That was definitely something he would normally have picked up on, wasn't it? 

Or maybe he only picked up on it when he was looking for it. Which he wouldn't normally have been doing, around a guy. 

Maybe he should start. If it was going to feel like that.

"Fuck, I'm thirsty, man."

Pietro found that he was too. Good thing they had those water bottles… somewhere around here. "Way to think ahead, JP." 

Jean-Paul had felt guilty, for about five minutes. He'd done it deliberately. Well, at least, once he'd had Pietro's finger in his mouth, he had. But his perverse curiosity, and the strange sensation of skin on his tongue, the taste of salt and _Pietro_, had been too much, in his utterly fascinated state. He just wanted to see what the other boy would do. If he made him feel good. He'd long had a sneaking suspicion that Pietro liked men, and him in particular, a little more that the silver-haired speedster let on. The clues were all there. The lack of personal space between the two of them, the flirting (which Pietro _always_ started, aside from that first quick mind-fuck of a kiss ages ago,) the way he caught Pietro just _looking _at him sometimes.

Pietro's reaction was not entirely what he expected, however. Maybe something awkward, like a wide-eyed stare or a fight. Not such an extremely wet, aggressive, and… animal kiss. 

Fuck, that was hot.

He had screwed himself on that one, though. Before, it'd been easy to resist, thinking that Pietro wouldn't be interested, or wasn't ready to be, and was probably too self-involved to be a good kisser anyhow. 

Now that he knew differently, it was going to be a little more difficult. And Pietro would, no doubt, hate him tomorrow. He was painfully aware that most boys his age did not have his more… developed sense of self, particularly when it came to these things. He'd be lucky if his friend just let it drop and pretended it didn't happen, most likely.

Which was not Jean-Paul's style, and would irritate him immensely. He was not ashamed of anything he was. And never would be again.

And what he was, was extremely into Pietro Maximoff, at the moment.

Not to mention, still fucked up. Very fucked up. Which was helping him to get rid of the feeling that he'd just done a very bad thing, granted. But it was getting difficult to keep his heavy eyelids open, really. Felt like they had glue under them.

Which was a pretty funny thought, actually. And made him laugh aloud.

Pietro shot him a glare, camped out with a bag of chips not far from his own little area of junk food wreckage on the floor. Jean-Paul was presently licking the powder from a nearly polished off bag of Doritos off his own fingers, in fact. "What's so funny, man?" He whined.

"My eyelids… feels like they're glued down," he giggled, licking away happily. Normally, these things, this particular brand of chips, made him want to retch. But goddamn, he'd never noticed how much _flavor _was in one little chip. And so many little flavors, making up the one huge one! It was a miracle, really. 

Made him thirstier though.

Fucking cotton mouth.

Pietro laughed at this, around a mouthful of his own chips. "Dude, my head is like… hard to hold up."

He nodded, "Yeah, that's what I mean. Fuck, these chips are so good. You have to have one."

His friend held out his arms and Jean-Paul threw him the bag… and watched it go right past Pietro's hands and into his lap.

They started giggling again.

When they finished, happily munching away once more like two bottomless pits, Pietro appeared to be having a thought. "So… all this time you've been hanging out with me, and you didn't really like me?"

Jean-Paul furrowed his brow, and swallowed a handful of M&Ms. Chocolate was so fucking good. So amazing, how it just melted in his mouth. God, that was brilliant. All that sweetness, covering his tongue. Pure genius. "No, I didn't say that."

"Yeah man," the other boy insisted, breaking there to take a long drink of water from his nearly-empty bottle. "You said that you never noticed that I was "alright" before. Remember?"

He paused, and considered. "I guess I did."

"So what? That's pretty shitty dude!"

Jean-Paul shook his head, trying hard to think of how to explain what he meant. But it seemed even harder than it had when he'd first had the epiphany about an hour ago. "No, I liked you before. I just mean… I didn't pay that much attention to you before, you know? Like… you're just this guy, who I wanted on, and who made me laugh."

Pietro made a disgusted expression, "I guess that should be flattering."

"Isn't it?"

"It should be. It would've been."

Oh great. Before he tried to make out with him. _Nice one, Jean-Paul, you really fucked it this time. Good work_, mon ami. "Doesn't matter. I thought about it before, after my birthday. And I noticed now, so I like you more."

"I like you more too," Pietro grinned wickedly. 

Jean-Paul forced himself to remain cool. But he loved that expression on his friend's sharp features. It was like a dare. Like a challenge. Normally, he probably would've been purposely obtuse, denied all knowledge of what Pietro could mean by such a statement, and force him to say something uncomfortable, for his own personal amusement. He enjoyed being obtuse. But the weed had him in an honest place, as usual, and he felt too good, too happy stuffing sweet candy and salty chips into his mouth endlessly, to be bothered. "You just like my oral fixation."

"It's a bonus. Dude, you're a fucking tease."

He laughed. He'd actually heard those words before, but only from people who were trying to…

Get something from him.

Wait… _had _he fucked this?

"I always liked you, you know," Pietro appeared to be miffed that Jean-Paul had no good answer for this.

"You liked that I can put up with your shit, that I presented a challenge, and that I'm rich and famous. Or that I was, anyhow," but he was still laughing, uncaring. He honestly _did _like Pietro better, now that he could see this child-like thing in him. Made the whining and the trouble making appear perfectly sensible. How else would he be?

Pietro shrugged, slowly, and swallowed another handful of Doritos. "Yeah, but you're funny. I mean, you have a personality too."

"Yeah, imagine that," he was still laughing, inexplicably.

"Seriously, man. I wouldn't have been so upset about saying all that shit to you, before your birthday, if I didn't like you."

Jean-Paul stopped laughing at that, and considered it seriously. He may have had a point. "And it wouldn't have bothered me, if I didn't like you. You see?"

This seemed to satisfy his friend sufficiently. "Jean-Paul: more than just the Token Asshole."

"Don't let it get around. I won't tell your secret if you don't tell mine."

"To the grave, brother."

"Man, you turn into a hippy when you're fucked up," Jean-Paul cackled gleefully, putting down the junk food and sprawling out on the ground, suddenly taken by an urge to not have to hold his own head up. And god, the floor. Looked so comfortable.

"You're the one talking about hugging trees," Pietro was still munching, loudly.

"_Watching _trees, Maximoff."

"Big difference!"

He was considering how to reply properly when he noticed the door swinging open. "What the hell are you guys doing in here? It smells like—,"

Lance was standing in the doorway with Kitty when he picked his head up off the ground enough to see something other than Pietro's ceiling. 

Pietro waved, lazily. "Hey guys. Want some chips?"

He then looked over at Jean-Paul, that horrible wicked look on his face again, eyebrows drawn down, million-dollar grin plastered across his face. And they both cracked up completely. 

"Oh my god, you guys are…"

Pietro managed to give Kitty a thumbs up, "Fucked up!"

This only made Jean-Paul laugh harder. His sides were starting to hurt, almost as if they'd split. He wondered momentarily if that was a real possibility. Could he laugh himself to death?

"Jesus," Lance was saying, shaking his head in wonder, "This is why we don't have any food!"

"We'll go shopping tomorrow man," Jean-Paul promised, through peals of laughter. "Want some? There's still some…"

Pietro turned the Doritos bag upside down in one hand… and nothing fell out.

He felt for the bag of potato chips… nothing there either.

Their eyes met, and it seemed like they would be a pile of giggles again at any moment. But then they both looked, simultaneously, at the bemused couple staring at them.

"Well, I can get you high, if it's any consolation," Jean-Paul finally offered.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

AN: OK, this time I do it right. First of all, I'd repost that last chapter and correct what I said... but that would take forever, for reasons I don't feel like bitching about atm. So allow me to say right here and now, that the Beaubier sketches are linked in my profile. For some unknown reason FF.Net denied me linkage, so whatever. Second, I hope y'all enjoyed this, because it's the chapter that spawned this entire fluffy sequel. I wrote this first, out of all the stories done, and still to come, and I still think it's my favorite. 

And now, onto the huge ass AN I promised. Oh, aren't you just overjoyed? 

_TKD- _Wow! You felt for Pietro! /dance! No seriously, thanks for that. I was hoping it didn't sound like I was trying to cop out of him being an asshole. The thing is, I like him _because_ he's an asshole, so I'd hate to gloss over that fact. Glad you're enjoying it, thanks so much for the reviews!

_The Rogue Witch- _Would they let Jean in...? No, Probably not. But in my kinder, gentler world... I'mma say they did. Cause it pleases me to imagine sending her far away. I'm only keeping her close now so I can torture her later... Ok no, not really. But now that I mention it, that doesn't sound like such a bad idea...

_PeaunutBaby_- *hands you more Pietro and JP* Anyhow, about the Parliaments. My boyfriend and I have a classification system for people, and it's totally based on what they smoke. Punk ass little white kids, like me-- Camels. Snotty yuppie wanna-bes like him-- Parliaments. Never thought of it as... _that_ but I can see how it works. Since our classification system is inherently brilliant, and all. And well, hope this is close enough to smut to satisfy... at least for a few chapters. ;)

_Shaman Dani_- Thank you for being patient with my lack of response, darling. I too adore the New Mutants, and the "younger" kids, and wanted to use a lot of them. We'll be seeing more, by and by, because I just can't help myself. I'm glad you approve of the pace at which our speedsters are moving. It's clear that I've wanted to hook them up from the beginning of Relativity... but sometimes, anticipation is the best thing of all, really. 

_SilverCaladan- _I have a feeling I've already discussed your comments with you somewhere along the line... but thanks for the reviews, the idea help (if you get sick of me bouncing crap off you, just let me know mwahaha) and your honesty. Will Pietro and Wanda ever talk about it... erm... stick around for the next edition of _Beaubier's Fumbling Attemtps at Evo-fic!_ It promises to be very Maximoff-y!

_Guidi_- Hello and lovely to meet you! I find it very irksome that JP and JM tended to just be... devices in Marvelverse. A message about inclusion or a stereotype of a French Canadian. They have great potential, and all I can do is _try _to eke some of that out. I'm glad you've approved, thus far. As for Evo Pietro making sense... he rarely does. It's almost as if they wanted to change his character halfway through, but it was too late. Or something to that effect. But I'm glad my explanation works for you. Works for me, and seems to be working for JP ;) As for the shopping with the girls... you know I'd already sent this chapter off to Sue for beta reading, at the same time I sent the last one... but I could do a little sidebar fic about the shopping trip... that could prove awfully fun. Let me sleep on that a bit, and don't be surprised if the idea gets used!

_Fata Morgana-_ Hell, _I'm _not even happy that I'm keeping Jean around! Haha, no seriously, glad you are happy about it. About the French thing-- that was particularly daft of me, considering that I _know _I've used _ma _in the past properly (I think he called her _ma souer_ in one of my 616 fics. Is that right?)... and hell if I knew about the _amie _thing. I was just being lame, and I'm lucky you were there to catch me! And seriously... it would've been hilarious if I'd had JM sock Pietro when she came with the jellybeans. ;)

_Risty_- I'm a huge Lance/Kitty fan too. I think they're great for each other, honestly. I really don't like Scott, as a general rule, but I do like Evo Scott, for reasons I can't sort out. Still, I gotta go with the flow. And the idea of JP and him in some kind of weird friendship (it's like the kind you don't admit to your other friends you have) really entertains me. Jean... Jean I hate. I hate reading her, writing her, everything. I have no idea why I torture myself. Like you, I fear that I don't much care for her because she reminds me a bit much of me. 

_Akuma no Tsubasa_- Thank you for the French help! Feel free any time to fix that for me. I think I sorted out the problem, but god only knows. I took German, Spanish, Nepali, Sanskrit... and I can do Hindi in a pinch, but holy god French confuses me. I hope that was enough suffering for our JP and Pietro for you, but I have a limited patience with internal monologue, so I only drug it out a few chapters. And yay! I made the favorites list! *hug* As for the bitch-Jean being over the top, I was talking to a friend the other day, and we decided that Evo Jean is even worse than canon Jean. So I just let loose. Sorry if that was distracting but... yeah I just figured that was exactly what I would do, in her situation. And I'm a horrible bitch. ;)

_Krac_- Haha. She makes such a great fag hag. Nice to meet you and thanks for the review!

_Jacob_- Wow... what a lovely review! Thank you so much for your encouragement. Particularly glad that you enjoy Scott and Wanda-- to be honest, they are two of my favorites to write. Wanda is definitely my favorite Evolution character, and Scott is a surprise. In the sense that I really never expected to like him. And I do. Hope you enjoy the rest, and glad you are enjoying.

  
  


The next chapters may be slower in coming, due to technical difficulties. But hopefully, we'll be up and running by the middle of the week. Much love -Beaubier-


	7. Alpha Male

Alpha Male 

_Wherein Jeanne-Marie proves that she's a force to be reckoned with_

_Telltale Quote: The only decent boy in this house is Jamie Madrox. –Jeanne-Marie Beaubier_

  
  
  


From the Diary of Jeanne-Marie Beaubier, August 25

_Dear Diary,_

_ Finally got that soccer ball, when Jean-Paul came out of his sulk recently. He's been so much nicer since he and Pietro are best friends again. I'm glad I could help, even if I worry about the two of them spending so much time together. I know my brother has a crush on Pietro, and I don't much like the idea of them together. Jean-Paul is sensitive, even if he doesn't want people to know. Pietro is a jerk. And I can't help but wish he could just find a nice girl. He would be so much happier if he could just love Rogue, I think. It would be ok, if they were just friends, him and Pietro. And he says they are. But I see the way he looks at him. Even, lately, the way Pietro looks back, when he thinks my brother isn't watching. And I fear it will soon be something more than just a friendship. And I do not like it._

_ But I suppose it isn't really my business. Roberto is, and he's gotten the new ball I had Jean-Paul pick up for him at the store. He is very upset that there has been a ban on mutants playing sports at school, since he was hoping to start on the Varsity soccer team this year. Now he won't be allowed to play at all. He suggested to the Professor that he could simply show them what happened, when he uses his powers, and maybe they would recognize that he had to turn them on and off. But the Professor says that the nature of his powers, his super-strength, would work against him—none of the kids would want to play with a boy who could kick them hard enough to knock them into next week. _

_ So he's been pouty. But I took the ball to him outside, and asked him to show me how to play. After an hour, he was running and leaping and playing. His feet are so fast, they are hard for the others to watch! He is so beautiful, when he is playing. Those are the times when I love him, no matter how much we argue over stupid things. My brother says that Roberto is shallow. But I say that my brother doesn't know him like I do. He's never seem him look beautiful, look free. How could Jean-Paul understand what it is I need from Roberto, when he's never seen him like that?_

  


Jeanne-Marie watched her boyfriend expertly dribble the ball up and down the "field" they'd created. Two trees at one end served as the goal, and at the other they had an actual legal goal, net and all. She kept track of his feet carefully as they danced around each other, and around the ball, jumping in front of it, then behind again, knocking it gently to the side as if he were being attacked from head on, and then easily moving around the imaginary defender. 

He had a look of extreme concentration on his face. Lips pressed thin, hair falling all around his face. But his eyes, his big, brown eyes, were smiling. Shining. She could see it from here, halfway across the field.

He was happy. He was free. And oh, he was beautiful. 

The fact that he was stripped to the waist helped. Sun-gold skin, covered in a thin layer of pure summer sweat, dark hair curling with the wetness in it, and that intense expression… an angel. A perfect, golden angel. Just like in the stained-glass windows.

She hadn't liked anything about Madame DuPont's, except for those windows. So beautiful.

"Ah, our Brazilian cover-boy showing off again," she heard behind her.

Ray was beside her in a moment, and Bobby and Sam ran off to join Berto on the field instantly. Lately she, along with the three boys, had been playing around on the field a lot. Everyone was anxious for school to get started again, so learning how to be a better soccer player (despite the fact that none of them would ever get to _use _their new skills, apparently) was providing some relief from the impatience and boredom of anticipation. 

"He's not showing off," she laughed at her friend, as he lowered himself onto the grass beside her. "It's what he does. I was playing with him, but I got tired. And it makes him happy, to run free like this."

Ray laughed back, "I guess so. Kinda obvious though, that he likes being watched, don't you think?"

"He's my boyfriend," she shrugged, grinning, "he's supposed to want me to look at him, _non_?"

"Yeah, you, Amara, Kitty, Rogue—,"

She smacked him playfully on the arm and laughed again, "You sound so jealous, Ray!"

"Hey!" He protested, rubbing at his arm. "Just being honest! Look at him running around out there with his shirt off! Look at me, I'm Brazilian!"

She rolled her eyes. "Look at me, I'm Canadian!"

"Canadian's are hardly known for being a beautiful people, JM," he snickered, "it's not exactly the same." 

She raised an eyebrow at him, playfully.

"Er…," he suddenly fumbled, scratching at the back of his head and looking away uncomfortably, "Not that you aren't beautiful and all… because you are…,"

She smacked him again, "Alright, enough. I'm only teasing."

He smiled, lopsidedly. "Yeah. I know."

"Anyhow, you could go show off too, if you need to be watched. I'd be happy to watch all four of you run around without your shirts. Just don't be upset if I go and get Kitty—she'd probably like it too."

His smile got even bigger.

"And Jean-Paul."

He laughed aloud. "Turns out he's not the only one in the family with the sick sense of humor, huh?"

Silently, feeling rather proud of herself for the joke, she nodded at Ray and turned her attention back to the three boys on the field, who were passing the ball in a triangle formation, running down the field, Roberto shouting at them and laughing by turns. Sam was actually turning out to be quite good… but Bobby was pretty hopeless. 

"What do you see in him, anyhow?"

She looked back over at Ray, who was watching the other boys play now. He didn't look angry, or upset… just like he was asking a friendly question. And, since she considered him a friend, she answered. "He has a very… bright spirit. And a big heart. Look at him when he plays. Watch him run. Doesn't he look happy?"

Ray watched in silence for a moment, then nodded, slowly. "Yeah, he does. You like that, huh?"

She shrugged. "I like him when he smiles. I like him when he's free. That's when I like people best, you know. When they're doing what they love. They're beautiful then."

He smiled, slowly, still watching the boys. "You talk like a poet, JM."

She felt herself blushing. She honestly could not remember hearing a compliment, never in her whole life, that made her feel so… good. She drew her legs up, and put her chin on her knees, trying to let her hair fall over her face to hide it. Suddenly feeling shy. "_Merci_."

He looked over at her now, quickly, but she kept looking straight ahead, watching Roberto.

"I'm sorry… did I say something wrong?" He sounded mildly panicked. Like he used to sound all the time, in fact, when they'd first started talking, during her first weeks at the Institute. Since, he'd relaxed and come to treat her just as he treated everyone else there, however, and they'd become good friends. 

"No," she said, quickly, not wishing to revert to their former "uncomfortable" phase. "No, it was sweet. I wish… I wish I were a poet. Or an artist. Or someone who could… tell people things, sometimes." It was her favorite wish, lately, in fact. She loved writing in her journal, finding the right words, capturing small moments from her day. And she loved making sketches of the people and things in her life, of small, seemingly meaningless actions, occurrences. So many things struck her as beautiful, or strange, or worthy of note somehow, throughout her day. And lately, she'd wished more and more that she could show them to someone. Talk to someone about them. 

But she was afraid. They would laugh at her, for being fascinated with the flash of Bobby's eyes when he laughed. With the way her brother stood, looking at the ground, thinking, when he thought no one was looking. With Amara's lava form and how it flowed so wonderfully around her. With the tree outside her window and it's knotted brown branches, twisting impossibly in and out of each other. With a thousand things that had no rhyme or reason. 

It was childish. And they wouldn't understand. But if she were truly a poet, truly an artist… she could show them, perhaps. Make them see what was so beautiful about them all.

He put an arm around her, carefully, and squeezed her once. "You're on your way. You should write that shit down."

"I do," she said, quietly, almost afraid to admit it.

"Really?" he seemed surprised, and looked over at her.

She looked back, and forced herself to relax. She could feel herself retreating, getting scared. It happened sometimes, when she felt a threat. 

But there was no threat here. Just Ray, just talking. "Sometimes. Jean-Paul, he bought me a journal. The Professor said I should write things down, so I started."

"Wow…," he raised his eyebrows, handsome face elongating into an expression somewhere between appreciation and surprise. "That's pretty cool. I just started playing guitar, you know. We should write some songs together, someday."

She laughed at him, "Maybe we could."

She felt his hand, on the other side of her, pull her hair out of her face and gently put it behind her ear. And when she looked up at him, smiling at the sweetness of the gesture, so unexpected from someone so boyish and reckless as Ray, he quickly looked away. Back at the field.

Where a suddenly very _unhappy _Roberto was staring at them. 

"Ah, shit," Berserker sighed, dragging his hand through his flame-orange tipped hair with something Jeanne-Marie could only assume was vast irritation. "Guess I'd better let go of you, huh?"

"No," she said quietly. And suddenly, very unhappy. "No, you don't have to. You are my friend."

And she was _not _going to have this argument again. Why it was ok for Berto to cat-call at Kitty or come up behind Amara and tickle her, but it was not ok for her to have a friendly conversation with Ray, was totally beyond her. And she wasn't about to put up with it. 

"Dude is pissed," he shrugged, removing his arm, but not moving any further from her.

Roberto starting coming their direction, however. And he wasn't that far away to begin with.

Bobby and Sam suddenly noticed what was happening, and immediately started to follow after him, shooting each other worried looks.

Ray and Berto, historically, did not like each other. They were both far too proud, outgoing, and… well, Alpha Male-ish to be in the same room for long without something bad happening. They both needed to be in charge, or the center of attention, and all _too _often, their timing collided with disastrous results. Jeanne-Marie had realized long ago that if she wasn't careful, her friendship with Ray could cause a huge fight between her and her boyfriend, but had continued it nevertheless. She did adore Roberto, of course, but that was no reason to change her life, or her taste in company. He was her boyfriend, not her keeper. 

At the moment, however, she wasn't sure she wanted him to be anything at all.

The look on his face was positively murderous. And she knew that this had a good chance of ending very badly.

Or it would've, if she hadn't been there. She wasn't about to let this blow up.

"What's happening, Sunny old pal?" Ray smiled at him brightly.

Roberto scowled, heavily. "Fuck off, Crisp. Why don't you go back to the house and flirt with someone else's girlfriend?"

Jeanne-Marie stood up now, as Bobby and Sam came up behind her, treading warily. She had originally planned to wait for awhile, see if they could diffuse the situation on her own, like grown-ups. But she was _not _about to be talked about like she wasn't even there. "That's enough. First of all, Roberto DaCosta, I will speak to whomever I wish to speak to. And secondly, he was not flirting."

Berto, black, glaring eyes still focused on the seated Ray, didn't even look at her. "Yeah right, I think I know what it looks like, JM."

She grabbed his arm now, and _forced_ him to look at her, as a surge of… something went through her entire body. Like light, really. It just flushed through her entire system, opened her up… and took charge. And now, she was about to do the same. How _dare _he try and exclude her from this! And how dare he start this nonsense again, in the first place! "Then you must blame me too, _non_, _cher _Rober'?"

He stared, mouth slightly open, eyes burning like two little hot coals. She could feel the other boys watching her now, waiting for something… 

"Jeanne-Marie…," Berto finally found his voice as she let him go, "forget it. It wasn't you. I saw him put his arm around you. And he was playing with your hair, for Christ's sake!"

Aurora narrowed her eyes at him, feeling her insides start to shake. How _dare _he? A friendly gesture, when she was feeling shy, afraid. A beautiful conversation between friends. And he had to make it into something cheap. "He was talking to me about something important, something important _to me_. He was only trying to make me feel better. Calm yourself."

Ray stood up now, hands out in front of him in surrender, but a wicked smile suddenly appeared on his face. "Look, dude, didn't mean to be threatening or anything. Whatever, just chill out."

Roberto's head snapped around at the sound of his "adversary's" voice, and he suddenly began to power up, squeezing his hands into fists and darkening in color, all over. "I'll show you threatening, Shock-boy."

Aurora watched for just a moment, fascinated by the way his entire body seemed to fall into shadow, quickly, but by degrees, like a sunset in fast forward, and then burst into black, orange-tipped flame. 

But as pretty as his mutant power was, now was not the time for him to be using it. What a complete idiot, to start this now.

Ray, however, did not seem to agree, and he set his jaw as blue lighting arced from one of his hands to the other, making those strange zapping noises. 

"You're being idiots," she informed them. "And if you don't stop it now, I will never speak to either of you again."

Bobby shifted behind her, and then stepped up next to her. "And if you still need to cool off, I'll ice you both down."

Sam, remaining silent, stepped up to her other side.

Roberto and Ray finally stopped glowering at each other, and looked at the three of them, standing there side by side. 

"You think I'm joking? Try me," she said, lightly. Almost conversationally, really. "And if you want to fight someone," she turned on that thing inside of her, that light she knew she had. Felt the glow starting all around her. Not nearly as bright as it could be with Jean-Paul near, just a sort of pale aura round her, but a light that was all her own, and impressive, she knew. "try me for that as well. Bobby has seen me in the Danger Room. What do you think, Bobby? Can I take them both?"

Beside her, through the haze of her own light, she saw the brown-haired boy nod, "Definitely. One handed. She's tough, guys. I've seen her in action."

Roberto immediately powered down, after this declaration, but continued to stare at her. Ray let his lighting die, but held his hands out, also gawking. As if he'd forgotten he was holding them up at all. 

"Jeanne-Marie, I—," Berto began, suddenly flushing slightly pink under the olive tones of his cheeks.

But she wasn't going to listen. She let go of her control over her powers, letting her body fall back into its comparatively restful state, and glared at him hard. "You offended me today. You by proving how little you trust, or care for me, and you," she turned to Ray, "by enjoying it. Did you think I'd sit here and let you fight about me, like some stupid girl who can't think for herself? I am an X-Man, and I am a grown woman."

She sped herself up then, consciously speeding the molecules in her entire body again, only in a different way this time (forward motion instead of vibrating back and forth, was the best way she could think to describe the difference between her super speed and her light) and grabbed her boyfriend by his shoulders, suddenly putting her face inches from his. Eye to eye with him, and holding onto him as if for her life. She lowered her voice, pleased with the look of confusion on his face as to how she had appeared there, how she had managed to get such a grip on him so suddenly. She started pushing him backwards, away from the others. And started growling at him, "We have been through this too many times. I am not yours, and you are not mine. If you want to be with me, then be with me. But do _not _pretend that you own me, or you will lose me."

His eyes were wide, and he was stumbling backwards, trying to keep up with the speed at which she was pushing him. Obviously very off balance by her sudden shift in tactics, and rather frightened by this side of her.

Which was exactly what Aurora wanted. So she kept pushing him backwards, and tightened her grip on his shoulders, digging her fingernails into his skin just a little. Just enough to remind him who was in charge. "Do you understand me, Rober'? Tell me that you understand me."

He nodded, quickly, his curling hair falling into his eyes now, his breathing becoming heavy. "I do, JM. I understand. But he—,"

She stopped, suddenly. "No buts. None. I don't want to hear it. You're both idiots. And I don't want to see your faces for the rest of the day."

He opened his mouth to protest again, but she was halfway to the house, in a flash of light, before he even got a word out. 

She was royally pissed off. 

Logan could smell her before she even came through the kitchen door. And she was definitely royally pissed off.

She practically blew by him as he decided to say something to her. "Somethin' eatin' you, Flashlight?"

The girl (Aurora. He was obviously not talking to Jeanne-Marie. This girl was pure, unadulterated Aurora, that much was clear from the scent of her—angry and unfamiliar.) stopped her progress toward the hallway at the sound of his voice, and turned to look at him. She was glaring at him, in fact, with those intense, crystal clear blue eyes she shared with her wise-ass of a brother. 

But she didn't speak.

He was well aware of Jeanne-Marie Beaubier's dissociative disorder, and all of the troubles it could bring with it. Some things, things that scared her, turned her into a crying puddle of Québécois. And other things, that brought out the fight in her, turned her into this. A straight up, no-nonsense advertisement for women's liberation. 

Rodgers woulda liked this one, really. Aurora. 

But she was staring at him, obviously in the middle of a personality swing, and he knew he had to do something to calm her down. Before she went into full-on bitch mode and busted down a wall. The girl had the power in her to do it, if she decided to. And from the look in her eye, and the smell of her, she was about to at any moment.

So he crooked a finger at her, gesturing for her to return to him. He knew better than most how something long-buried in your head could get the better of you. And make you sorry for it, at the end of the day. Sure, it wasn't another personality in his head with him, but he could understand, at least. And he wasn't about to let her walk out of here in this feral state, and let her do something she'd be sorry about later—either physically or emotionally.

She cocked her head at him, obviously considering the merits of such an action. And after only a second, complied, flashing once, and reappearing at the table, in the seat across from where he had been enjoying his paper and coffee in peace. 

"What happened?" He asked, hoping this wouldn't be too difficult. He'd only ever dealt with her in this state, what Charles had assured him was her "Aurora" personality taking charge, in a combat situation. The pheromones she gave off when she was like this were therefore less familiar to him, and spoke clearly of her switch. She had flashes of this daily, of course, but it was the middling personality, the strange combination of the dominating Aurora and the repressed Jeanne-Marie, who was usually seen around the house every day. 

"I think boys are idiots," she informed him, formerly thick joual accent nearly gone, no more present than it was in her brother, who had a much firmer grip on English than she had been given at that awful fucking school she'd grown up at. 

"Yeah, well, I'd agree," he rumbled, fighting an urge to smile. The girl was a natural flirt, and it was bound to cause some trouble, just like it did for that stubborn little shit of a boyfriend she had when he started. Certainly had increased the amount of spontaneous arousal suffered by the adolescent male population of the school, anyhow. Which could do nothing _but _cause trouble, really. "But what did the boys do, and which ones are we talkin' about?"

"Roberto," she practically growled, curling her hand into a fist.

He had to admit, she did look pretty when she was angry. Turned up the intensity on her features about a hundred percent, made them sharper, more defined. Exact same effect it had on her bother Johnny, in fact. Made her look much older than 18, so much that he couldn't shake the unnerving feeling that there were two very old souls living inside the Beaubier twins. Only, Johnny almost always looked pissed off. It was rare in her, so he actually bothered to notice. "Love trouble huh?"

She narrowed those icy eyes at him now, fearlessly. Smelled fearless too. Just angry. "You might say that. He started a fight with Ray for putting his arm around me, for talking to me."

Logan nodded, carefully schooling his face into submission. If he didn't he was sure he'd be compelled to grin at her. Shoulda' known. Just like JM and Roberto, to get into this kind of trouble. "Well, did you knock 'em out?"

She shook her head. "I threatened to. I don't know what to do to make them stop. He has no respect for me."

"Don't know about that, kid," he shook his head, "maybe he just thinks with the wrong brain a little too much. He's a hot head, your Berto. You gotta learn to live with it, just like he's gotta learn to live with you flirtin'."

She glared at him again, "I wasn't _flirting_. You sound like Jean-Paul."

Christ forbid. "Sorry, girl, but them's the breaks. I'd tell him the same thing, and I'm sure I'll have to eventually. Want me to go talk to him, or you gonna be ok?"

She nodded, but stopped glaring. "Of course I am. I'm not a child."

At that, he let himself laugh. More of a snort, really. But for him, it was a laugh. "No, you definitely ain't. And if I were those boys, I'd keep it in mind. Or they're likely to end up with busted lips."

"Busted knees, as well," she growled.

Logan shook his head, but actually felt reassured. Her smell had returned to something more familiar, her body was relaxing. She seemed to be ok, just fucking pissed. And really, she had a point. "Alright, I was just makin' sure you weren't gonna go wreck the house or yourself. Take it easy, huh Jeanne-Marie? And next time, come find me." Not that he thought fighting over a girl was terrible—there were a lot worse things the kids could be up to. But this girl, in particular, needed stability. She was lucky she'd gone this way, instead of turning into a pile of goo, but that usually only happened when either her life or her brother's seemed to be at stake. 

At least, as far as he knew.

She furrowed her formerly smooth brow, and pursed her lips for a moment. But said, "Yes, Mr. Logan, thank you."

As she stood to go, Jamie Madrox came wandering into the room, head buried in a book, and nearly ran smack into her next to the doorway. He looked up, wide-eyed, and gaped at the look on her face. 

Logan snorted again. She was pretty scary, really, when she was like this. And to a fourteen year old kid, she had to be even scarier. 

But she looked down at him, her expression hidden from him, and said, "What are you reading, Jamie?"

The kid stuttered for a moment, as Logan watched with mild amusement, and finally managed to spit out. "A… a recipe. I wanted cookies… peanut butter chocolate chip ones."

Aurora cocked her head, and Logan saw her shoulders relax, just a bit. "Want some help?"

  


Jeanne-Marie tried to breathe normally. The cookies, and Jamie, were helping, of course, but she still felt awfully irritated. And she still didn't want to see Roberto's face, or Ray's, for the rest of the day. 

The worst part about it was that she had been having a really lovely conversation with the blonde boy. Something really nice, sweet. And Roberto had to go into jealous mode and ruin it, make it feel like she'd done something she shouldn't have. And he was wrong, of course. She'd done nothing wrong, and she knew it. He was just a hot head, like Mr. Logan had said.

And so was she. 

So she tried to calm down, felt the light slowly fading from behind her eyes. And cracked another egg into the huge mixing bowl Jamie was peering into intently. "Ok," he muttered, thoughtfully, "I think the next thing is the… um… brown sugar."

She smiled at him. He blushed. And she put the cup scoop into the bag of brown sugar and began pressing it down with the back of the spoon industriously, while he measured out the regular sugar. "Um… Jeanne-Marie… it's really nice of you to help me. I never made cookies before, but I kinda miss having them. Mom makes them all the time."

Again, she smiled at him, "I've never made them either, honestly. But I'm happy to help. I need something to do, and if it's important to you, all the better, _non_?"

"You're really nice," he almost whispered, looking at the sugar bag intently.

Such a cute boy. So sweet. And it had to be hard on him, all the older kids leaving him out of everything, just because he was a few years younger. "Sometimes I'm mean."

"You're nicer than Jean-Paul," he started smiling again, looking back up at her.

She laughed at that, "I hear that every day, Jamie. But don't be afraid of him, he is totally harmless."

He made a face that said he couldn't possibly believe her, and then kept smiling as they worked. They chatted aimlessly about the younger boy's family, his friends from home, his school here in Bayville, since he hadn't been to high school yet. And slowly, Jeanne-Marie felt her anger slipping away from her. 

Particularly once they started the mixer, and Jamie ended up with a face-full of flour. He tripped backwards, fell into the chair, and multiplied himself a few times.

They were just spooning out the first of their creations onto the cookie sheet, she and the small army of Jamies (who made the work quite fast, really,) when Jean-Paul came into the kitchen. And she could feel that he was not happy. 

She didn't even have to look up from the cookies to know. "Hello, brother."

The Jamies looked at her, as one, and their eyes went wide. 

She mouthed the word "harmless" to the crowd of him, and turned to meet her brother as he came toward her. 

"Jeanne-Marie," he said quietly, "are you alright?"

She smiled at him, and opened her arms for a hug, "I am. Still a little angry, but I'm alright. How did you know?"

He gathered her into his arms and smoothed her hair for a moment, warm and reassuring. She knew that everyone thought him cold, but they were wrong. He could be the sweetest, most caring person she had ever known, if he decided to. 

If he decided not to, of course, he was the absolute worst. But at the moment, he seemed concerned and open. So she continued to smile, into his shoulder. Not leaning on him for support, but enjoying the warmth of the hug, and the unspoken promise that he was there for her. 

"I saw Drake in the hallway, with a partially iced-up Roberto. Apparently they went after each other again, after you left."

Shocked, she looked back up at him. "They did _what_?"

He rolled his eyes, "Roberto went after Ray, when you left. Jesus, what a soap opera you're causing." 

She pursed her lips at him, "It was not my fault."

"Um… sorry to interrupt," a very small voice said from beside them. "But I think we're done with this."

The twins looked over, as one, to see one Jamie, trying to hide behind a dishtowel. 

Jeanne-Marie let go of her brother, almost gratefully, since she didn't much care for his last statement, and helped Jamie to put the first batch of cookies into the oven. She should have known Jean-Paul would blame her for this. He always blamed her for anything that happened, when it involved boys. And he was one to talk, the way he chased after Pietro Maximoff…

::They're both fine, Bobby iced Roberto a bit, and Sam apparently flew off with Ray into a shrub the minute he began retaliating. But I think you should reconsider your choice in boyfriends.::

She shot him an irritated look. ::You should speak English when others are in the room. It's rude to leave Jamie out.:: and then switched back into English. "It doesn't matter if they're alright, brother. They act like I'm some kind of prize. And yes, if they don't stop, maybe I should reconsider my choice in boyfriends."

Jamie shot her a sidelong glance at that, and his eyes popped again. He was obviously picking up on the events of the day from what they were saying, and he was probably shocked to hear about this fight. 

::He doesn't need to hear what I have to say.::

"Then it can wait until he's not here."

"Jeanne-Marie—,"

She stood up straighter, and spun on him, feeling her face flushing pink with anger. Why would no one _listen _to her today? Had she suddenly turned into the Invisible Girl? "_Not now_, Jean-Paul."

He just stared at her, eyes narrowed, unmoving. He clearly thought that now was the perfect time, and though she'd silenced him for a moment… she knew it wouldn't last long.

"Um… you won't need me for a few minutes, JM," Jamie said, back to being six Jamies, and finishing up spooning out the next batch of cookie dough. "I'm gonna go outside and see what Kitty and Rogue are doing, ok?"

She tried to smile at him, and honestly felt some of the anger leave her tight shoulders and back as she looked at the boy. "Sure. I'll be here when you get back, I'll watch the cookies."

Six Jamies nodded, and practically ran out the door.

She sighed, and looked back at her brother, ::He's afraid of you.::

::What's wrong with you?:: He ignored her altogether. Just like Roberto had. 

::_Me_?! What's wrong with _me_?! First Roberto gets mad at me for talking to Ray, then Ray thinks it's funny, then you come in here and demand that I stop what I'm doing and talk to you about whatever you want right here and now? And now everyone is ignoring me or treating me like I don't matter, and you ask me what's _wrong _with me?:: It was starting again, the light. She could feel it, behind her eyes. ::The only decent boy in this house is Jamie Madrox. And possibly Bobby Drake and Sam Guthrie, but they're old enough to be just as awful as the rest of you.::

For a minute, his ears seemed to be turning pink. His brow wrinkled up and his eyes were dangerously narrow. But after that minute, he simply shook his head and sighed at her. ::I didn't mean it like that. I was simply worried about you, Sister.::

And just like that, she relaxed entirely. She leaned against the counter limply, crossing her arms over her chest. ::I know.::

::He treats you like a prize, you are right. I cannot stand to watch this. You deserve better.::

::He has his good moments, brother. He is sweet, and charming, and… and a really excellent dancer.:: And she smiled at this, with a weak laugh. 

His face softened further, and he came to stand next to her, leaning on the counter as well. He echoed her own stance, and crossed his arms over his chest, then leaned his shoulder against hers. ::I don't like him, nevertheless.::

::I don't like Pietro, really.::

He looked over at her, suddenly. ::It's not the same.::

She looked back, met his gaze fearlessly. ::Isn't it?::

His expression suddenly went blank, and he only blinked at her. ::Absolutely not. Not even close. I do not have a boyfriend, and I do not want one. He's a friend.::

She shrugged, ::I know you don't like Roberto. But think about it, next time you decide to try and tell me what to do. I don't like Pietro. But I knew you liked him, that you wanted more, and I saw how sad you were without him, so I tried to help you find him again, when you lost him. Think about that.::

He took a deep breath. ::I told you—::

::I don't care,:: She said simply. ::You boys, you all think you can run my life. Poor, crazy, sweet Jeanne-Marie. She needs your help to decide what's best. She doesn't know when a boy is flirting. She doesn't know what she's gotten herself into. Do you believe that, brother? That those things, that they are all I am?::

She could feel perfectly clearly that he was torn between anger, confusion, and guilt almost equally. When he was right next to her, it was so obvious. And so predictable, from him, these things. ::You do need help sometimes… the only reason a boy like that talks to a girl is because he wants to sleep with her. You are old enough to know better, yet all you do is encourage their behavior.::

::That's ridiculous!,:: she laughed at him, ::Even if Ray is attracted to me, it doesn't mean he will act on it. That is what separates us from animals, control. And friendship. And you think I need help sometimes? Tell me, brother, do you?::

He only looked at her for another moment. And then said, ::Lose him. Roberto is not good for you. I won't see you treated like some trophy to be fought for. And if I hear of it again, I will personally destroy both of them.::

::Not if I get them first,:: She said, coldly. And that was how she felt, at the moment. Cold. Just who did he think he was, coming in here like this…

::Fine, that's lovely. You do it. But you'd better be fast, if you think you can get them before I do,:: and with that, a very irritated Jean-Paul pushed himself off the counter, and started toward the hallway he'd come from once again.

::And how are _you_ treating me, brother?:: She called after him.

He stopped. And turned to face her. ::What does that mean?::

::You say he treats me like a prize, but you treat me like a child. Is that any better?::

::I love you, Jeanne-Marie. I only want you to be happy.::

::If you loved me, you would support me in my decisions, _not_ tell me what to do.:: 

A wave of anger suddenly rolled off of her brother, and he practically growled at her from the hallway. ::If you were more careful about whose lap you sat on, I wouldn't feel the _need _to tell you what to do.:: 

::Talk to me about whose lap I sit on when you're done making a fool of yourself with Pietro.::

His eyes flashed, instantly. His face turned pink. He growled deep in his throat.

And he turned on his heel and stalked away.

She turned to the stove and sighed, checking the time, feeling strangely… in charge. Only ten minutes. Two more and the cookies should be ready. 

And good Lord, she was done with boys. Hard headed idiots, the lot of them. 

Jeanne-Marie woke up to the sound of a knock on her door. She sighed, slid out from under her sheets, found a pair of shorts, and padded to the door quickly. "Coming, just a moment."

She should have expected this particular visitor, of course. She'd said she didn't want to see him for the rest of the day, yesterday, and she hadn't. But it was, officially, tomorrow. So here he was. "Roberto," she sighed, as she swung the door open. 

His huge, dark eyes flicked up to hers, then away quickly, down to the floor. "Can I… come in?"

She took a deep breath, and said, "_Oui_." Then stepped back to let him inside the room she shared with Jean (who was already up and out, as usual.) 

She went back to her bed, and he followed, climbing up to sit beside her, their backs to the headboard, their legs stretched out in front of them. And she looked straight ahead, not sure how to feel about this. 

On one hand, she did adore him. She felt so happy with him, some times. She liked to dance with him, to watch him, to kiss him. To talk with him on long nights, when they couldn't sleep. Talking about silly things, like his home, her school, random ridiculous thoughts on sports or music or clothes or anything. He was just so… fun. 

But she had to admit, she was still angry. Mostly with Jean-Paul, who was supposed to know her best, but yes, also with him. Because he was supposed to know, and respect her as well. And if he didn't have that… why were they wasting their time? 

"I'm sorry, JM," he said, after a moment of silence. "My temper… I know it was stupid, I know I was wrong. He probably didn't mean anything by it, and if he did, you could've handled it. I just… I don't like him. You know that. If it was Bobby or something, I would've been ok. But I can't stand that guy."

She looked over at him now. He was looking down at his hands in his lap, full lips pouty, eyes only half open, so downcast.

And she reached out, and took one of his hands in hers. "I know. But… we had a deal. You remember, _non_? Even if it was flirting, it was supposed to be ok. You flirt with everyone, I flirt with everyone, but we have a deal. We like only each other, in this way." 

He looked up at her, a guilty half smile on his face now, and squeezed her hand. "Yeah, you're right. I just got pissed off, and it was dumb. I really am sorry."

So pretty. She found herself smiling at him. But she hadn't forgotten. "And you ignored me. You acted like I was just the prize in your stupid fight. That's what hurt me."

He winced, and looked back down at their hands, intertwined and resting half on his leg, half on hers, and she followed his gaze. Dark brown and pale ivory, entangled with each other. Something about it was fascinating, really. Jeanne-Marie made a mental note to write something about that, some day. 

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I don't know why I did that. It's stupid. I know better, I know you're more than that."

"You forget it again, and we will have problems." 

He looked up at her, and gave a hopeful half smile. "But we don't right now?"

"This is what Jean once called a _get out of jail free card_. I like you too much to tell you to go away, Rober'. You know that. And it was a good apology," she smiled at him gently, but brightly. Because she meant it. He did realize what he'd done wrong. At least there was that. "But… you also tried to hurt him after I left."

He bit the inside of his cheeks, eyes wide and searching around, as if for an exit. "Yeah well… nothing happened. Bobby, um…,"

"I heard. But I'm not joking with you. I will come after you next time."

"I believe it," he grinned, wryly. "Anyhow, who told you about that?"

"Jean-Paul."

He grimaced and wrinkled up his nose. "Oh, shit."

She nodded, "Exactly."

"So I should steer clear of him, huh?"

"That might be best. We fought about it."

"Fuck."

Again, she nodded, "Yes, fuck indeed. But don't worry, it wasn't so bad."

That, at least, made him laugh, and he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "Ok. Well I don't wanna be late for training, but I had to come in here first thing and… clear this up. I'll see you at lunch?"

She let go of his hand, and nodded, "_Sim_."

He grinned at her, shaking his head so that those beautiful black waves of hair fell over his eyes, and laughed_. "Muito excelente! Adeus, querida!"_

As she watched him leave, she felt that she'd done the right thing. After all, she _felt _happier. 

  


Roberto resisted the urge to skip down the hallway.

He'd been a shit, and he knew it. Yesterday had been yet another shining example of the DaCosta temper, and it had nearly cost him the sweetest girl he'd ever met. Not to mention the prettiest one. And the most energetic. 

Everything. Jeanne-Marie Beaubier was everything he'd ever wanted, expected, from a girl. Smart, pretty, funny, and she could probably kick his ass. His father had always said that looks were his first priority, but if she couldn't kick his ass, the relationship probably wasn't going to get too far. The DaCosta men were strong, proud, and perhaps a little violent tempered. Ok, really violent tempered. They needed women who could knock them on their ass, figuratively and possibly literally. 

And Jeanne-Marie Beaubier was perfect.

Aside from that whole thing with the scary fucking twin brother from hell. The one who he knew did not much care for him dating his sister. And who he also knew held _far _more sway over his sister than Roberto could ever hope to. 

That was going to get really annoying, some day. Having to compete for her attention with her own brother.

But that was the one bad thing, really… he _always _felt like he was competing for her attention. And attention was something Berto knew he craved, just like he craved sunlight. He wasn't shy about it—he liked to be looked at, admired, and appreciated. JM was particularly good at the appreciating thing… it's just that she was good at it with _everyone_. And he, irrationally, he knew, wanted her to be good at it with _him_. Not Bobby or Sam or Alex or even Jean-Paul. And _definitely _not Ray Crisp. 

Whom he happened to dislike, more than he'd disliked anyone in quite some time.

He silently vowed to get a game of mutant soccer going, and find a reason to slide tackle Berserker. Possibly from behind, if the ref wasn't looking. 

_Puta que pariu_, fuck the red card, if he was. It'd be worth it.

But as he was thinking these pleasantly devious thoughts, he rounded the corner…

And nearly ran into the scary fucking twin brother from hell.

Both boys stopped. And looked at each other.

Roberto, for his part, felt his knees go slightly weak. Because yes, for some reason, Jean-Paul Beaubier struck him as… damn frightening. He was like a loose cannon. Unpredictable, mean, and he could shred your self-esteem entirely with just a few words.

And _nothing _seemed to be able to shred his.

That, and he was fucking _fast_. Berto was strong, stronger than anyone else here. But the idea of getting punched in the jaw 100 times before he could even blink was daunting, even to him and his astounding self-confidence. 

He wanted to go around the older boy, pretend he wasn't afraid, that nothing was wrong, but Jean-Paul spoke before he could force himself into motion. "I'm only going to say this once, Sunny," he lilted, in that watered-down version of his Jeanne-Marie's accent. His voice was quiet, his face was composed. But there was definitely something dark behind those (disturbingly familiar) eyes. "If I ever find out about you upsetting her like that again, I'll make sure it's the last time you ever upset anyone."

Roberto swallowed. But he wasn't about to look like a pansy ass bitch. No way. Not in front of this guy. "I apologized, and admitted I was wrong. Like a man. I made it better. So you can just butt out, because it has fuck all to do with you."

Electric blue eyes sparked dangerously, and Roberto found himself held by the collar, with Jean-Paul's face only inches from his own, in a flash. Even more disorienting than that, however, was the similarity of the action—grabbing him like this, staring him down, so close, so suddenly—with how JM had reacted to him yesterday… she'd done almost the exact same thing. 

"Watch your mouth, kid," Jean-Paul sneered, eyes boring into Berto's relentlessly, so close, burning so violently. "Jeanne-Marie has _everything _to do with me. And don't forget that."

_Yeah right, as if either of you would ever let me_. Filho da puta... The thought ran through his mind, instantly, but for some reason, he couldn't make it come out. He just stared, eyes narrowed. And fumed inside at his own impotence. At his fear. 

And suddenly found himself released, and JP now standing a few feet from him, hands in his pockets, chewing his bottom lip. 

Maybe this disorder thing, with the personalities, was genetic… because it felt like a completely different Jean-Paul looking at him right now, all of the sudden. Someone who didn't particularly like him, yes, but nowhere near violent. Simply… thoughtful. Just like that. 

Jesus. What a fucking family.

"But I'm glad you apologized. I guess you get to live another day."

"Gee, thanks," Roberto managed to halfway sneer.

JP nodded. As if he'd meant it.

Fucking infuriating. 

And he now realized, as his heart finally returned to it's proper place in his chest (as opposed to in his throat, where it had been camping out) that he'd been too scared to even power up. If it had been anyone else…

"Just make her happy. Or piss off. She has enough to worry about without having an asshole for a boyfriend," the Canadian was saying, as he casually strolled right past Roberto, and continued on his way down the hall. As if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

Roberto straightened out his t-shirt, which was hanging off of him all lopsided, stretched out at the collar from the older boy's grip. Fucker. _Yeah, she has shit to worry about, like having an asshole for a brother_. But again, he didn't say what he was thinking. The weakness in his stomach, in his knees, kept him from it. He felt positively sick, in fact. Something in his throat, something sour. Like acid. Like leftover fear.

As he continued to the locker rooms, already late for his session with the other New Mutants, he found that he no longer had the urge to skip. But he did want to hit something. 

He always worked better in the Danger Room when he was angry, anyhow.

  


From the diary of Jeanne-Marie Beaubier, August 26

  


_Dear Diary,_

_ Boys are absolutely ridiculous. _

_ I do not understand what is wrong with Roberto. Sometimes, so sweet, so giving, so heroic. So very _good_. And other times, he acts like he did yesterday. Like an animal whose mate has been threatened. Like I'm some kind of stupid child, who cannot think and act for herself._

_ I wonder what it is that makes him behave like that? Kitty says my first thought is probably right, it's simply their Alpha Male personalities. Humans are just animals, she reminds me, only with less fur and buildings. And friendship. And love. Those last two are my additions, but I cannot help but believe them to be true. I know what the soeurs would say to me—that these thoughts are blasphemy. Man is Divine in origin. _

_ But as much as I believe some of what they said… some of it was obviously a lie. I am no demon. And man is only an animal. Just because our brains are bigger, it means very little. In the end, we just go back to biology. Some can overcome it. And some don't have the strength._

_ Roberto ought to have the strength, however. He is far too smart to give in to such things. Today, we spent much of the evening together. It was awkward at first, holding his hand, the way his eyes would meet mine for just a second and then quickly look at the floor. And something was bothering him, but he wouldn't say what. He only said he was glad that I was so good to him, and could forgive him. And so I dropped the subject. _

_ But I do wonder if I did the right thing, agreeing to try again. I know it felt right. But how can I expect him to change? Would I be able to? _

_ No, I wouldn't. And I wouldn't want to. Some things, I suppose I would change. Or I wouldn't see the Professor twice a week, with Jean-Paul, to try and close the split in my mind. But the things that I think of as _me_, my love for beauty, for art, for music, for flying, for people… these things, I would never change. Why should I expect him to?_

_ Somehow, I feel he _would _expect me to change, if he wanted. And that's what worries me most._

_ Either way, things are alright, for now. By the end of the night he was stealing kisses, and I couldn't help but steal a few of my own. I do love his lips. And his hands. And really, almost everything about him._

_ I only hope it's enough._

_ As for my brother, he sat next to me at dinner today, after avoiding me all day, and smiled at me. This is his way of saying he holds no grudge, and so I smiled back, to let him know that I don't either. It happens sometimes, that we fight. We should not have let it turn into insults—petty things about who flirts more or who is making a fool of themselves. If I wanted him to treat me like a grown-up, I should treat him like one, and respect his decisions, his way of life. _

_ Even if I _don't _care for Pietro Maximoff. I think I would, if he were just Wanda's brother to me. Or even just Jean-Paul's friend. But when I fear he has my brother's heart in his hands, when I know how cruel he is, it's difficult to trust him. _

_ Still, I shouldn't have said such things. And neither should Jean-Paul. But if there is something we can understand about each other, it is our temper. It seems to be the same._

_ Ray also apologized to me today, and swore he didn't mean to laugh, he just couldn't help it. I told him he'd better learn to. He agreed, and watched Kenshin with Kurt, Kitty, Bobby, and me. _

_ So, another day ends, and I find myself forgiving all the boys who make my life so difficult sometimes. I suppose I taught them something about myself, yesterday. But I have a bad feeling that Berto will always be jealous, Jean-Paul will always be over-protective, and Ray will always think it's funny._

_ In a way, I wouldn't change a thing about any of them._

_ But mostly, I really think they all just need a kick in the ass. _

_ At least the cookies came out well. _

  
  
  
  


+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

AN: Right... girl power or something.

First of all I heart Sue Penkivech. 

That said, on to the rest of you, whom I also heart, but she's the beta (read, goddess) so I gotta reprazent. 

_Guidi-_ You are far too sweet to me haha. Yeah, I agree, I love my bastard speedsters. I can't help it, it's the whole "fun jerk" thing you're talking about. It's the big win, plain and simple. And yes... the whole Asgard thing screwed Northstar over bigtime... SO lame... The shopping expedition spinoff is half-written-- I _will_ do it. Along with a few other requests, methinks. Thank you for the input, and _never _feel like a dork philosophizing about Marvelverse to me, sugah. Look at what _I _do with my time. Who's the dork?! Oh right... 

_Namida_- So glad you thought it was hot ;) I like that site quite a bit, the one you pointed out, has some fabulously dirty JP fic on it. Brilliant. I read a few of them a few months ago and I'm glad to find it again!

_Fata Morgana_- A snog _is _hot, when it's our boys! No work required from yours truly! And yes, JM and Wanda could totally bond over their brothers. They were... ah... _blessed _with interesting ones, that's for sure. As for my French spelling... yeah. It's about on par with my French grammer. God help us all. Thanks for the help, _so _much.

_Risty_- Yeah, yeah the make-up chapter got a bit sappy. That's about as sappy as they get, I think. I can't see either of them knowing romance if it hit them upside the head. Glad you had fun with the last chapter, I know I bloody well did. More to come!

_Jskullguy_- Honestly, you are chock full of ideas. Thanks for all the help, and I'll be emailing you again soon. 

_Shaman Dani_- Oh good, glad you liked it! The whole high thing is all taken from *ahem* personal experiences. So if it seems real... it kinda was. Just not with two super hot speedsters, more like me and about five boys holed up in a dorm room with duct tape on the door... which, by the way, does _not _work. Just FYI... not that I'm _promoting _this sort of thing...

_Jellyfish_- Well hell! Marriage! Awright, sure, but you don't want to sleep outside sugah. It's cold as hell up here in the mountains ;) Anyhow, glad you liked it. Means a lot to me that you like my Northstar and Aurora since they are, quite obviously, my favorites!

_Krac_- My god... it _is _like Queer as Folk! Glad you enjoyed, and more should be inc this weekend... assuming something _else _on my computer doesn't decide to break, like my modem apparently has...

_Peanutbaby_- Always the sober one huh? Clearly, I've not played that role nearly enough, but I'm glad it seemed true-to-life to you! And I'm glad you thought it was awesome... that honestly means a _lot _to me.

_The Rogue Witch_- Some dam good slashy action is all I was going for. Thanks!

_Akuma no Tsubasa_- Repercussions smrepercussions! Mwahaha. Ok, no seriously, I dunno. I _do _think Xavier would flip, but I _don't _think Kitty would tell anyone who would let the Professor find out. Sure he's a psychic and all... but he's not supposed to be nibby right? Er... let's hope! Though I _do _think the Prof would be extremely unhappy to find that there had been weed under his asparagus all summer... anyhow, I'm glad you felt that the timing was ok on everything. I always worry that I've done something too fast or too slow... made it too contrived. That freaks me out. And also, about the _exceptions to the rules_ in French... yeah. Must be almost as bad as trying to learn English as a second language (talk about exceptions to rules...)

_SilverCaladan_- So... was that a _good _kind of insane laughter... or a _bad _kind? ;)

  


God, I hope I didn't miss anyone. If I did, just gimme a virtual kick in the arse. Much love -Beaubier-


	8. The New Kids

The New Kids

_Wherein the Beaubiers go to BHS_

_Telltale Quote: I swear though, if one more person calls me French, I'm going to stab someone. --Jean-Paul Beaubier_

  


"Oh my god, we're like, totally going to be late!"

"Shut up already, Kitty," Rogue growled, swallowing half a croissant almost whole. "You've said that about thirty times. And is it me, or is your valley girl accent getting _worse_?"

Her roommate shot her a Look of Death, but never quite got to respond, as Jean-Paul suddenly appeared at her side and grabbed the yogurt cup right out of her hand. "Hrm... strawberry. I hate strawberry yogurt. Seeds. Do we have blueberry?"

Kitty swiped it back, shooting their Canadian speedster an indignant look. "I don't know, flyboy, look for yourself."

Jean-Paul glared back at her before opening the refrigerator and burying himself in it, head-first.

Rogue actually laughed aloud at them, a rare occurrence for her this early in the day. JP was also notoriously horrible in the morning, and if he hadn't even had a cup of coffee yet (had to be decaf, of course, but he insisted he needed it anyhow to put him into a better mood, for some inexplicable reason. He was nothing if not eccentric...) he was an absolute nightmare. "No coffee on," she reminded him, chucking her thumb at the empty pot. "You forget to set it last night?"

He emerged from the fridge, triumphantly holding up a plastic container with a giant blueberry on the label. "Found it! And whatever, we'll stop and get coffee on the way. Are we all read--"

But he was cut off by a rather loud BAMF! and a "_Guten Morgen_!"

Jean-Paul curled up a lip and sneered at the cheerful Nightcrawler, presently in fur-free form, before retreating to the counter to find a spoon.

He didn't deal well with morning people, Rogue knew. Which was probably part of the reason the two of them got along so well-- she really didn't either. Or perky people in general. Not that Kurt was "perky," per se... but JP, just to be inflammatory, would probably call him that.

Kurt busied himself finding something to eat, humming happily, as the younger kids all rushed out the door on their way to the van that Mr. Logan would drive them to school in. Rogue, along with Kurt, Kitty, JM, and Roberto (due to association with JM, of course,) would be riding with Jean-Paul, naturally.

It was really kinda weird, thinking of being at Bayville High again, after everything that had happened. And without Scott and Jean. Not that she'd ever had much love for the older girl, but she had just always... been there. And soon, she'd be moving out of the room she shared with JM, and into a dorm in the city. Still close, and she'd still be here on most weekends... but really, it was weird to think of her being, for the most part, gone. It both a relief, and a strange kind of emptiness, at once. Sure, it'd be great not having perfect Jean Grey around to compare herself to. But... well, she'd just always been around. 

And Scott... but she was over that, anyhow. And he'd be starting his own classes, in a week or so, at the local college. But man... that left her, JP, and JM as... the seniors. 

Weird. 

"Ok, _enfants_!" Jean-Paul had finished wolfing down his yogurt and began herding them all out of the kitchen. "God forbid we should be late, Kitty will pop an embolism. Time for school."

Kitty shot him yet another dirty look, and he smiled at her, sarcastically.

Then again, maybe things wouldn't really be all that different. Still felt kinda the same-- everyone getting in everyone else's way, antagonizing and picking on each other. If anything, with the rather wild Beaubiers taking Scott and Jean's place... things could actually be a lot more interesting this year at BHS.

  


Jeanne-Marie was feeling a bit shy. Understandably, she reminded herself. But shy, nevertheless.

"Our new students are Jeen-Mah-ree and... Zhon-Pol Bow-beer."

She felt her brother cringe beside her. But, really, he should've been happy. At least she hadn't called him "Jeen-Pol..."

"Did I say that right?"

"No," he answered quickly, in his most business-like, clipped tones. "But don't worry about it."

The teacher just watched him for a moment, puzzled, and then continued down the roster. 

He looked over at her and rolled his eyes, then sipped at his coffee again. 

She'd hate to be the teacher who irritated him before he finished it, that much was for certain. Despite the fact that it had no caffeine in it, his psychosomatic addiction was quite powerful.

They had homeroom together, with none of their other friends, but the rest of her schedule had at least one other student from the Institute or the Brotherhood with her-- which made her feel much better. 

Well, aside from last period. Which was English Lit with Lance and Pietro. That just sounded like hell on earth.

But she'd have to cross that bridge when she came to it. 

"So, hey," a red-headed boy beside her, with adorable freckles, leaned over to say to her after the roster was called, during the morning newscast on television. "Where are you guys from? You French or something?"

Jean-Paul, on the other side of her, nearly choked on his coffee.

"No, we're from Canada. From Quebec," she smiled at him gently.

For some reason, the boy blushed. "Oh. Sorry. I'm Tyler Baker. Nice to meet you... er... how should I say your name, again?"

She held out a hand to him, and pronounced it properly, "Jeanne-Marie Beaubier. And this is my brother, Jean-Paul."

Jean-Paul flicked his fingers at them disinterestedly, and hid behind his coffee cup.

He took her hand, and she felt it shaking. "Ok, Jeanne-Marie... was that right?"

"Close," she nodded, still smiling."

This was going better than she'd expected, even if the boy seemed a little jumpy. The boy in front of her turned around now, obviously having been listening to their conversation. "So, Quebec, huh? Then you _do _speak French, right? Everyone there does, right?"

She stole a glance at her brother, and saw him covering his face, staring down at the desk. She wasn't sure if he was trying not to laugh, or not to cry.

But she smiled at this other boy, the new, dark-haired one with the pretty brown eyes, and said, "Not... exactly. But we do, yes."

"That's cool. You could just take French and get A's."

She laughed, quietly. "It's not the same, exactly. But I did study French in school, before, and I'm going to sit through one of the classes here every day, as an aide."

"Hey, is it with Miss Callahan?" A new voice, behind her, piped up.

She turned to see another dark-haired boy behind her, very handsome, with hair that was long enough to hook behind his ears and a tattoo of an angel on his forearm, on the underside.

Something about boys with tattoos...

"Yes, sixth period," she told him, smiling happily. Oh, she liked this school already.

He smiled back, and when he spoke, she saw something flashing inside his mouth. A tongue piercing. Oh... nice. "I have that class. I'm Aaron. Nice to meet you, Jeanne-Marie."

She smiled at him, but was distracted by her brother's voice beside her. And a definite wave of irritation from him. She turned to look at him, and saw the blonde girl beside him laughing annoyingly loud at whatever it was he'd just said. He had his face buried in the coffee cup again, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. 

"So, are you like... a cheerleader?" The red-head, Tyler, was asking her now.

"Oh, no," she told him, returning her attention to him. "I mean, I never have been before. And they said they wouldn't allow mutants to do sports yet. We're all working on trying to get that ban removed but..." she trailed off then, as she watched the three boys have totally different reactions to what she'd just said. The boy in front of her went wide-eyed and turned around immediately. The red-head beside her also went wide-eyed, but nodded at her, as if impressed. And the boy behind her actually spoke, "Yeah, that's fucked up."

The homeroom teacher looked up sharply, "Watch your mouth, Mr. Benedict."

He rolled his eyes, "Whatever," and looked back at Jeanne-Marie. "There was some shit went down last year, with mutants. But whatever, almost no one gives a fuck. Don't listen to assholes like Randy."

The kid in front of her reached a hand behind his back and stuck up his middle finger, so that the teacher wouldn't see, but Aaron definitely could.

"Fuck you too, dickwad."

Jeanne-Marie laughed at the exchange, and heard her brother's voice again, this time snarling a little. She looked over at him, and saw that he'd now attracted the attention of one of the blonde girl's friends as well, and they were giggling over every word that he said. He looked over at Jeanne-Marie, pleadingly, and she felt it coming off of him in waves. Something that could only be articulated as _Oh my god, get me out of here._

She couldn't help but laugh at the expression on his face at that. He was so funny when he was out of his element, her lovely, arrogant brother.

  


Jean-Paul suffered through AP chemistry and German, his first two periods, alone and almost in silence. A few times, people had talked to him, trying to be friendly. Mostly, they just looked at him askance after he answered the roll call and they heard his accent. He couldn't help but hear the whispers all around him-- Xavier Institute, French, stuck up, mutant. Even a few about him being a sexy motherfucker, in fact.

Those last ones, he didn't mind so much. Some of the kids, the ones he'd met briefly at Amanda Sefton's party that summer, recognized him and waved or smiled. He nodded to those, figuring that was enough, and went about the work of listening to his teachers lay down their first day bullshit. No swearing, no chewing gum, no food, no drink, and no wearing hats. His chemistry teacher appeared to have stuck her finger in an electrical socket, as her hair was well and truly fried, standing on end. And she assigned him the world's most awkward, ridiculous girl as his lab partner. She'd already broken a Bunsen burner, and they'd only just been reviewing how to use one properly. His German teacher seemed to have issues with children vomiting in his classroom, as his first rule was "Don't blow chunks in room 301," which happened to be his room number. He apparently preferred that his students take the waste basket outside and do what they had to, because he simply could not tolerate the sound of someone retching.

Most of the students laughed at that. Jean-Paul simply feared he'd had his lunch ruined.

But finally, third period came around, and he had Lit with Rogue. When he saw her sitting at one of the desks in the back, he instantly pulled her up out of it and threw his arms around her.

She laughed at him, then pushed him away teasingly, "Jesus boy, what's inta you?"

He rolled his eyes, straightening his button-down after that hug. "First, I was assaulted by cheerleaders in homeroom. Then I was left alone in this dismal school, and assigned a horrible klutz for my lab partner. And last period, my teacher talked for a half hour about how he hates when his students vomit in his classroom. I'm happy to see you, _chere_!"

"Good lawd," she laughed as he took his seat next to her, "Ah never thought ah'd see the day where ya said that to someone, JP."

"I love you every day, Rogue, and don't forget it," he promised her, meaning it more than ever, "but today, you are an angel."

The teacher wasn't so bad this time. In fact, she was pretty fucking funny, making fun of her first period class for being a bunch of idiots (for some reason, he thought Freddy had English first period... which made sense, really. Nice guy, but thick as a brick.) and then mocking them when they didn't answer the questions properly. She was a youngish woman, probably only in her mid-forties, and he rather liked her no-nonsense way of dealing with them. Between that, and having Rogue to bitch with, this class had great potential.

Fourth period was American History with Wanda and Jeanne-Marie, which just made him laugh. American History. Honestly...

And then came that blessed hour, when he could leave the clinical confines of the classroom and head to the...

Clincal confines of the lunch room.

But at least there were no adults talking at him, for an hour.

He sat with Wanda, in a far corner of the cafeteria, since neither of them knew anyone but the people they lived with here, and Pietro found them eventually. He came strutting between the aisles of tables, as if the horrible cafeteria was really some kind of palace, attracting both jealous glares and covetous glances as he did so. He knew it, too. Jean-Paul could see damn well that he knew it. And he was just grinning.

Jean-Paul rolled his eyes, once Pietro looked his way.

And Pietro, that shit, winked at him.

He shook his head and turned away, looking over the table at Wanda. "God, he's even worse at school than he is at home."

She grimaced, poking suspiciously at the lumpy mashed potatoes on her tray. "I figured. He has more of an audience here."

"Well, if it isn't my two favorite people," the speedster in question said as he slid into the chair beside him. When he pulled his chair up, he also moved it over, just a little.

So that his knee rested against Jean-Paul's, if they both relaxed their legs. 

The X-Man bit down hard and tried not to look over at his friend. The punk had done that on purpose. And it was working. Goddamn, he wanted to look over at him.

"My wonderful sister and my... _Canadian_ best friend," Pietro finished, grinning at them both by turns.

"Any reason you say the world _Canadian_ like it's some sort of STD?" Jean-Paul asked, conversationally.

"And what do you want, anyhow? I know it's something if you're calling me wonderful...," Wanda screwed up her face at him.

He shrugged, "No, and nothing, respectively. How's old BHS treating you?"

As he said this, Lance and Kitty were now taking seats at the table, beside Wanda, relegating Todd to a seat next to Pietro. Who sild even closer to Jean-Paul, when Toad sat down.

Dammit.

For the past week or two, it had been like this. They'd been inseparable, as ever, Jean-Paul and Pietro. And it wasn't so much that they were pretending they hadn't kissed. In fact, Pietro regularly joked about Jean-Paul's oral fixation, when he got the opportunity. 

It was just that...

Well, fuck, what did he expect?

Actually, he knew what he'd expected. He'd expected to lose his best friend, mostly.

What he _wanted _was something else entirely. He'd _wanted _Pietro to suddenly realize that he desperately wanted his body and hop into bed with him like a good little speedster.

But neither had happened. Instead... it was like this. Constantly thinking about it, touching or smiling or joking... and _doing _nothing. Almost like they were... taunting each other. 

And yeah, he did it too, entirely on purpose. Leaned on him in the parking loat at the mall, with a "friendly" arm over his shoulders as they walked inside. Sat just a little too close to him when they were watching a movie at the house. Reached up and flicked the hair out of his eyes, when it started to fall at the end of the day. And he _knew _it had it's affect on his friend, just like it did on him. Somehow, he just knew. Body heat, the way his eyes moved. Something, somehow, made it obvious. 

But Jean-Paul just couldn't push it. He would've normally. But he honestly did not think that Pietro realized just how... well, gay he was. And he still wasn't certain that he wanted to be the one to... try it out on. 

"Hey, ground control to Major JP!" Pietro said, directly into his ear.

He jumped, suddenly, startled out of his thoughts, and looked up to see dark blue eyes laughing at him. "What?"

"I _asked _you how your day was, dickhead."

He rolled his eyes, taking a deep breath to regain his calm. "Oh how friendly of you. Give me a second to get my hearing back, would you?"

"Ha-fucking-ha. DidyouhaveGermanyet?"

"Yes. And thanks for bringing it up. Want my lunch?"

"You got the _don't blow chunks _speech, didn't you?"

  


Pietro had heard all kinds of amusing tidbits about the "new kids." Thankfully, most people hadn't put two and two together with him and Wanda (he didn't think, anyhow) unless their heard her full name. He'd heard her referred to as "that goth chick," "the evil one," "the witch," and "the girl with the great ass."

Of course, he pretended not to hear that last one. Mainly because it made him feel very violently disposed toward the jackass who'd dared to talk about her that way, while simultaneously giving him an urge to gag. All the rest, however, he could pretty much agree with. Goth, check. Evil, check. Witch... well, they didn't call her the Scarlet Witch for nothing.

The Beaubiers were getting their share of attention too. The "French twins" were a hot topic in the gossip mill before he'd even hit fourth period. He'd heard everything from pretty accurate stories about them being super-powerful mutants, to wild ones about them living in a cabin in northern Quebec with no plumbing or electricity for the first sixteen years of their lives.

He particularly liked that one. He'd have to tell JP about it after school.

The boys were particularly happy about Jeanne-Marie. And the girls about Jean-Paul, apparently. He'd heard Gina Della Rocca, now captain of the varsity cheerleading squad, talking with about six other girls about that "hot French exchange student," whom he could only assume was his oh-so-not-French friend.

Admittedly, he experienced a flash of something when he heard that. He immediately figured it was jealousy; after all, he'd dated most of the cheerleading squad at one point or another. Usually two or three of them at once.

But for some reason, it had ended up feeling more like... possessiveness. Not the jealous kind, either. The gloating kind.

Whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean. Pietro was so confused lately, about that whole mess with JP, that he didn't even bother trying to sort out how he felt about it anymore. He'd decided about a week ago that it was pointless, and he was just going to stop thinking about Jean-Paul entirely. 

Of course, that was particularly hard to do. Especially in the morning. In the shower.

But then, he didn't need to think about that at the moment, either. Not in the middle of economics class.

He glanced over at JP, slouched down low in the desk next to him, leaning his head on one hand, looking bored as fuck. Which, for JP, meant that he also looked cool as fuck. He was good at that _I'm bored because I'm too cool to be here _expression. Pietro made a mental note to practice that more, and decided to let himself watch the dark-haired boy a little more. Just for a minute. Jean-Paul wouldn't be looking over for a second anyhow, he was practically in a coma. 

Pietro counted, almost subconsciously. One... two... three... four... five... ok better look back at the teacher now.

He had no idea why he kept doing this to himself. It was like torture.

But he knew damn well that he liked pain, in certain doses. Liked to feel. So it probably had a lot to do with that, really.

Wanda sighed at her Spanish teacher, Mr. Harrison. "I don't _want _a Spanish name. What's wrong with my name? Can't you just call me Wanda?"

Almost the entire class was giggling behind her now, as she sat slouched in the front row. Not her seat of choice. Where that horrible fucker had _put _her. Right next to the kid with the comic books (shit ones, like _the Green Arrow..._) who kept talking to her chest every time they had to introduce themselves to their neighbor to the left. She'd been introduced to James Corchoran about fifty times now. She _knew _his name was James Corchoran, thanks. And he knew that hers was Wanda Maximoff. Time to move on, turn the page, Senor Harrison...

"Senorita Maximoff, we all need to take Spanish names. This is _Spanish Class_," the bloated windbag blew at her.

She rolled her eyes. "Thanks, wasn't sure about that. I figured it was Japanese. You know, considering how many times I've just said _Me llamo Wanda_. What's the point?"

For a moment, the round little man seemed to be turning into a tomato, his face turning the very same color as her jacket. "Better not to talk back to your teachers, Senorita."

"Better not to patronize your students, Senor."

Another round of laughter from behind her, but she didin't give a fuck. What the hell was wrong with this guy, informing her that she was now in _Spanish Class_. Thanks for the update, buddy. Real fucking helpful. 

"Perhaps you'd like to talk to the principal about it," he huffed. 

"Whatever," she sighed, already bored with this whole regular school thing. "Are you kicking me out?"

Mr. Harrison's face flushed even darker, a rather dangerous shade of red, really.

She took that as a yes. So she gathered up her books, her black bag, and stood to go. 

James Corchoran was grinning like an idiot, watching her.

"Something wrong, smiley?"

He quickly looked down at his book, and his lips started to move as he read. 

"Later," she nodded at Sam Guthrie as she walked by him on her way out. He shook his head and waved, silently grinning. 

And she could've sworn she heard even more laughter, as she closed the door and started walking toward the office. 

"Hey, you're Pietro's sister?"

Oh great. Not two steps down the hallway and already she was busted. She looked up at her assailant, but kept walking. An extremely pretty, in an extremely stereotypical way, brunette. High ponytail, heavy make up, short skirt.

Must've been a girlfriend. Lovely.

"Depends on who's asking," she growled, hoping the sideways glare she shot the girl would be enough to make her shut the fuck up and go away. She sped up a bit, continuing her trek down the locker-lined hallway toward the principal's office. 

"My name is Ashley."

Right. So apparently, she couldn't take a hint. Considering her brother's taste in women, Wanda really wasn't all that surprised.

Poor, deluded Pietro. He'd really be a lot fucking happier if he'd just admit that he had better taste in men, and stick to that.

"Your brother was supposed to call me," the other girl was babbling, in the sort of high-pitched voice that made Wanda want to shove her into a locker and slam the door... preferably into her face. "Like two weeks ago. But he never did. And I tried to call you guys at home, lots of times, but someone always answers and tells me he's not there. I saw him today, but he was like... gone when I tried to catch up with him. I mean, what's up with him lately?"

"Look," Wanda stopped suddenly, fighting _very _hard not to hex the girl into a coma, or start sending lockers chasing her down the hall. "First off, I'm not Pietro's keeper. Second, take a fucking hint, he's not interested. Third, how the hell do you know that I'm his sister?"

Ashley's mouth worked for a moment, as she processed this vast amount of information. Wanda could practically _see _the words as they were mentally digested, written across the girl's face. Finally, she spoke again, "Everyone knows you're his sister. Everyone knows Pietro."

She gritted her teeth, and started walking toward the principal's office again.

The girl, to her amazement, followed.

Stupid people. They were everywhere. And they simply would not stop _breeding_.

"Why isn't he interested?"

Amazing. She didn't even sound upset. Just... curious. Vacant. 

Wanda suddenly heard Johnny Rotten's voice wailing in her head, in front of the Sex Pistols, "_We're so pretty oh so pretty aaaaand... va-cant_." "My guess," she snarled aloud, "he found someone better looking."

That stopped the girl in her tracks. 

Wanda, breathing a sigh of relief, continued on her designated route. Almost looking forward to the respite from the plague of complete and utter idiots Bayville High School seemed to be suffering from. 

  


Jeanne-Marie shook her head at Alex quickly, in warning, as she watched him prepare to shoot a rubber band at the back of Ray's head. The French teacher, Miss Callahan, who had agreed to let her sit in on the class and be a sort of "teacher's aide," in order to both help the other students, and help her own understanding of English (for lack of a decent ESL program,) shot her a curious look.

She smiled, hoping she looked calm.

Miss Callahan turned her pinched face back to the blackboard, writing out the numbers in French.

Jeanne-Marie looked back at Alex, quickly... and saw Ray, in the desk in front of him, rubbing the back of his head in irritation. He turned around to glare at his roommate for a moment, and then they both started snickering, silently. Alex looked up at her, and held out his hands helplessly, as if he were entirely innocent.

Nothing like his brother. Nothing at all.

When Miss Callahan had finished writing on the board, she passed out a worksheet and a conversation for the students to read back and forth, and asked Jeanne-Marie to help anyone who was having trouble with it. 

About seven hands went up immediately, when she suggested that.

All of them belonging to boys.

She decided to play favorites, and head to Ray first. He was scratching his head, honestly confused, so it seemed, and was looking awfully embarassed. Once she had sorted out his difficulties, and he and Alex were back to reading, she moved on to the next closest person who'd needed her.

And saw that it was Aaron Benedict, the long-haired, tattooed boy from homeroom.

"_Bonjour_," he smiled at her. "Told you I had this class."

She laughed a little, "So you did. What's the problem? Your "hello" sounded wonderful."

He shrugged, "No problem. Just wanted to say hi."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Well... hello to you too. Let me know if something is difficult."

She turned to walk away, but he caught her wrist, carefully. "Hey listen... um...," the punky boy suddenly seemed tongue-tied. She was surprised. He had seemed rather confident, earlier in the day. But his dark eyes flicked up to the ceiling quickly, and then back down to meet hers again, before he seemed able to continue speaking. "Are you... seeing anyone?"

It took a moment for her to sort out exactly what he meant by that, but when she realized, she felt her face get just a little warm. "Yes, actually, I have a boyfriend," she told him, quietly, hoping it sounded gentle. He was a brave one, to ask her, and she didn't want to be mean about it.

"Oh," he let go of her wrist and smiled at her, just a little uneasily. But he recovered quickly, and said, "Well, I just thought I should ask before I make an ass of myself and flirt with you anymore, right?"

She laughed, louder this time, and Miss Callahan looked up from where she was helping one of the girls in class with her pronunciation.

Jeanne-Marie shot the boy one last smile as he waved goodbye, rather cutely for someone covered in piercings and tattoos, she thought, then she moved quickly to the next one who had raised his hand.

She was lucky to get this opportunity. They'd wanted her to take some horrible class at the local college, even though Jean-Paul, and all the other kids at the Institute, insisted that her English was better than the average exchange student's. Her study of French at Madame's had proven useful, however, when she met with Miss Callahan and discovered that she could speak the French version of her own native Quebecois tongue much better than the teacher. The woman had immediately requested her as an aide (that was something seniors at Bayville High were entitled to do, apparently, work for a teacher for credit) and the principle had reluctantly allowed it to count as her ESL credit as well.

And she did _not _want to go to that little college and take the class by herself, so she had better do a good job, or Miss Callahan would doubtless throw her out on her ear. The woman had a love for all things French (and cats... she seemed to like cats very much, for some reason,) even French Canadian, apparently. But she had a mean streak that was obvious in her beady little green eyes, and Jeanne-Marie knew that even being from Quebec wouldn't save her from the Wrath of the Cat Lady. (as Ray and Alex had referred to her, upon entering the room.)

So, she continued on her way, face still just the tiniest bit flushed. Until every boy in the class (aside from Ray and Alex, of course) had heard her pronounce the sentences on the paper, in perfect French, roughly fifty times. Individually.

Jeanne-Marie had to wonder if they were really this daft, or if there was some kind of conspiracy among them to make certain she never got to sit down.

  


Jean-Paul and Pietro, along with Freddy, had spent the entirety of gym class fucking around. And that kind of thing always got Jean-Paul wound up. So he'd been forced to endure trigonometry with his heart racing and his foot twitching. Rogue had offered to knock him out, in fact, if he didn't stop bouncing his foot on the back of her seat.

Kitty had spent a lot of time rolling her eyes at him. But if she wanted to play that game, god knew he could win. So the two of them had engaged in a contest of sorts, to see who could make the most offensive gesture or face before the teacher looked up, for a little while. Which amused the kids behind them, but made the teacher irritatingly wary, once people started laughing aloud.

He probably shouldn't have done that whole thing where he fake coughed, moved his fist toward his mouth, as if he were covering it politely, but stuck his tongue into his cheek so that it stuck out obviously as he moved his hand back and forth a few times. The universal sign for "suck a dick." That had really been the one that had caused the most snickering from the class. But Kitty had been so busy laughing at him that she'd forgotten all about the contest.

Which meant that he'd won. Which made it ok, really. The ends often justified the means, after all.

But now, finally, he was driving home. And good god, he loved to drive. Particularly this car, his baby, the M5 he'd bought last year when he'd gotten the first of his money from the fund Raymonde had set up for him. He had more, that he couldn't get to for a few more years. Which was fine by him, because god knew he'd drop it on Jeanne-Marie or Rogue or doing something stupid with Pietro if he got ahold of it right now. 

"What were you two doin' behind me in class?" Rogue whacked him on the arm, reaching over from the passenger seat, "Everyone was dyin', but ah couldn't even look behind me because y'all made the teacher so nervous."

"She started it," he chucked his thumb over his shoulder, to where he knew Pryde was sitting.

"Oh, I'm so sure, JP!" She squealed, also whacking him one, if halfheartedly, from the back. "I had no idea what a little brat you were!"

"He's friends with Pietro," his sister laughed, beside Kitty, "how else could they get along?"

"I suddenly understand your entire friendship," the brunette informed him, catching his eye in the rearview mirror. 

He grinned evilly at her, then changed the subject. "God that was fucking _boring_," he shook his head, shifting gear almost violently. Driving. Fucking great stress relief.

"Well, what did you expect?" Kurt was grinning at him in the rearview now, from the other side of Kitty. "A party? It's school. At least no one decided to freak out on the freaks."

"Yet," Roberto piped up, from beside Jeanne-Marie.

Jean-Paul pretended he hadn't heard that. He still wanted to wipe the little shit out of existence, but he hadn't had the heart to refuse his sister's request that he come with them. Mainly because he knew she'd go with the New Mutants if he said no, just to prove a point. And there was no reason for that, when she could come in his car, which was obviously far cooler than a van full of adolescent mutants. So he could endure the presence of DaCosta, for the moment. Particularly since he seemed to be taking Jean-Paul's advice recently, and making his sister happy.

"I don't know, I thought it was fine," she was saying now, from the back seat. "Everyone was very kind to me. Didn't you think, brother?"

He shrugged, "Whatever, the kids don't concern me. I'm just _bored_."

"Did anyone mention yet that ya sound like Pietro?" Rogue asked him, sweetly.

He shot her a glare, and changed the subject again. "I swear, though, if one more person calls me French, I'm going to stab someone."

"They think everyone is French, lately," Kurt laughed. "Someone called _me _French today."

"Closer than _me _being French. Other side of the goddamn world," he growled back, irritably. 

"Is _Beaubier _really so hard to say? Only one teacher got it right all day...," Jeanne-Marie was asking.

"_Yes,_" the rest of the car chorused, Jean-Paul excluded.

He rolled his eyes, "And what's with the plague of cheerleaders?"

"Some of us wouldn't mind a plague of cheerleaders!" Kurt informed him.

Once again, he rolled his eyes. "Who's hungry?"

"Starving!" His sister announced, predictably. She ate as much as he did, on a regular basis, easily.

"Oh, me!" Kurt added, also predictably. "I need my Gut Bomb!"

Jean-Paul passed the turn-off to go home, and headed for town, knowing that he'd be hungry again by dinner time, no question. "Burgers, then. Fuck, turn this up, it's the Stones."

Rogue obliged, leaning forward and pushing the appropriate buttons on the stereo (yet another thing Jean-Paul was proud of-- not only was his car shiny, fast, and big, but it was also _loud_. Which made it just about the coolest thing ever, as far as he was concerned.) And the blessed sound of blaring, dirty guitars filled the car and spilled out the open windows. 

Bayville High, Jean-Paul had decided during homeroom, was lame as fuck. He hadn't been to a "normal" school in about five years, and before then he'd only gone when he felt like it, for the most part. Skipping school had been a common activity for him in his younger days. 

But hell, it was something to do. And he really ought to get a diploma, eventually, so he might as well do it here and now, right? 

If only he could herd all of the football team and the cheerleading squad, and half of the other athletes in the school, and the really irritating teachers into the auditorium, or pehaps the gym, and blow it to hell, it would be far more entertaining. 

Of course, that'd leave him, the X-Men, and the Brotherhood, pretty much. 

But hell, he could dream.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


AN: Yes, a rather random chapter, but most everything in it is leading up to, or setting up something that's about to go down. Starting out the new era of "JM and JP in high school," is really all I needed to do here. And hopefully be mildly entertaining. We'll get back to little individual plotline stories properly on the next chapter, you have my word. And rejoice! We're over halfway through the fluffy plot bunny sequel!

That is, unless I get struck my another bunny to the head. Fur coming out my ears from that, atm.

Anyhow, right...

_SilverCaladan: _She probably did forgive them too easily... but she's sweet, deep down. Unlike me. I so would've had to hit something. If not one of them, something in my room definitely would've ended up broken. And yeah, it was Portuguese, or a poor attempt at it. God help us all, another freaking language I don't understand...

_Akuma no Tsubasa_: I'm really pleased that she managed to come through the way you described her-- she _is _mentally unstable, but she does have a will of her own, I think. At least, my JM does, dammit! And yeah, JP is totally bossy, but that's always the way I think of him from AF. Bossy, bitchy, and... sometimes the sweetest man alive. Thanks so much!

_Shaman Dani_: I honestly thought about having JM sock Berto or JP, but then I thought... wait. If their roles were reversed, and one of them hit her... it'd be _so _uncool. But that was about all that held me back. Glad you're still reading, and enjoying!

_Risty_: Yay Berto! Have you see the preview image for Xtreme 42?! Berto, Sam, and Amara, all done by Larocca. Berto looks so bloody cool when he's all powered up ;) Anyhow, thanks for the input, and glad you were ok with the Berto. You write him really well, so that is very cool of you to say.

_Regret: _Yes... yes I am weird. No question. ;)

_Tak: _I think you're my new hero. Feel free to tell me what to fix in that last chapter, if the Portuguese is that irritating, seriously. I have never taken it, obviously, and I was just trying to think of what I would say in Spanish, then feed it into the translator that way and make it Portuguese... but I've not even had Spanish in six years, and they're pretty freaking far apart so... ugh. I'm so glad I found you! ;)

_Caliente: _Hola ;) Yeah, these chappies are long, but that's mostly because they're meant to be stand alone, single plot stories. It's irksome, but it's the best way to approach a random fluff fic that I could come up with. About the Rogue thing, the reason she hasn't been in this fic so much is because I told a lot of what I wanted to tell about her and JP in the main fic, Relativity, like you said. This thing was basically concieved as an outlet for the stories I didn't get to tell in that one, so she ends up getting the shaft a bit. However, She'll be coming in more. Gambit... dude, he'll be back. But not for the fluff. For the next _real _evo venture. I understand not having much love for Berto and Ray, they're kinda assholes... but I do rather like Ray, because he has no canon history, so he's fun to play with. Berto... I dunno. I just think I'm in love with his juiced up form ;) And Sam... ah, I have plans for our favorite Kentucky boy! Stay tuned, and I will get him some lovin! You're really sweet to leave such a great, kind review. I really appreciate it, and it helps me keep chugging along, typing this crap out all the time. Thank you!

_TKD_: I too, am angry with Berto for interrupting my nice JM/Ray moment! And he shall pay! Er... sorta. Anyhow, I'm glad you approve of the JM. I like her that way!

_jskullguy:_ Once again, your imagination astounds me. I'd love to see them become full length fics! You should totally do it. I'll be in touch ;)


	9. The Question

The Question

_Wherein Jean-Paul has an unexpected visitor_

_Telltale Quote: I like pineapple and anchovy pizza, and I hate when my mom buys me briefs for Christmas --Alex Summers_

  
  


Scott Summers stared out his window. And sighed.

The fact that he looked like some idiot lovelorn hero in a bad film didn't escape him, of course. But fuck it. He felt like an idiot. And he was certainly lovelorn. So what to do?

Lovelorn, bogged down with homework already, and bored. Well, not bored, exactly. Just... restless. Like he wanted to get out and do something, but felt chained to this house, this desk. He spent half his time feeling like this, restless, and the other half mentally berating himself for feeling that way. 

This wasn't him at all. But at the moment, he couldn't even imagine what his problem was. Life was good, after all. Jean had stuck around-- well, close, anyhow. School was looking good, if a bit work-intensive. The team was getting to be really amazing, working together. He had it all... right?

A knock came on his door, and he looked up, slightly surprised. He was basically serving in the capacity of an RA here at the Institute, a sort of older-kid role model for the students, as well as the team leader. And though he took his duties very seriously, he really hadn't been able to... _do _anything for them. Part of his duties, however, was making certain that he was in his room for a certain number of hours a week, so that the kids could find him. It was pretty late, but hell, someone might have a problem. So he replied, "Yeah, it's open."

The knob turned slowly, and he soon saw Alex's head emerge from the crack in the door. "Heya bro. You uh... you got a minute?"

Scott waved him in, knowing he was probably a little too distracted at the moment to be of help with anything the kid needed, but unwilling to send his brother away. He probably didn't have anything too serious anyhow-- Alex had been doing really well here at the Institute. He seemed to love it, and his powers were really flourishing, with the help of the teachers here.

See! Another thing to be happy about-- Alex was happy. And with him, which was what he'd wanted since he'd found him again. 

_Don't be an idiot, Summers. Get out of this funk!_

His brother took the invitation, closing the door behind him, and sat down at the foot of the bed. 

"What's up?" Scott asked him, turning his chair away from the computer, where he had been waiting for Jean to come online to say goodnight, to face his brother. He looked him in the eyes and caught a glimpse of something unfamiliar on the kid's face. Something like... hesitance? Irritation?

Oh hell, who was he kidding. For all he knew, it was gas.

This really should've been Jean's job.

"Something up at school? The team?"

Alex looked up at him, just for a minute... and then his brown eyes quickly flicked back to the floor. But not before they gave Scott a few clues about what was going on with him. "Naa. I mean, not really. I was just thinkin' lately. About some stuff, you know?"

Hmm. Now this _was _odd. Maybe something in their genes simply started getting depressive around this time of year, because Scott could definitely see it, in his eyes. Alex was giving off a weird vibe, and was definitely afraid of talking about something. Not that Scott was always the most perceptive about such things, but that much was pretty clear. Alex wasn't too hard to read, if you looked him in the eye. Usually, he had one expression on his face-- that of the blissed out surfer kid. But his eyes changed constantly. Even Scott had noticed that. "Feeling shitty, aren't you?"

Alex looked back at him, in surprise. "Yeah, kinda. Why man, you too?"

He nodded. "Yeah. No idea why."

"Uh... is it Jean?" His little brother ventured, looking thoughtful now, "I mean, everything's ok with her, right?"

Scott nodded again, "Yeah, sure, it's all good. I just feel really... _off _lately."

"Yeah... me too."

"Think it's genetic?"

"Dude...," Alex actually smiled at the thought, "I hope not. Like having blasters that could level New York isn't enough genetic complication."

Scott gave a dry chuckle as well. "Yeah, good point. I don't know man, this is just shitty."

"School?"

He shrugged, "It's cool. Not much to it. IT's just GECs, right now. Haven't even chosen a major..."

"Whatever, man. Don't pick till you're ready. Take time off if you have to. You have a life here, right?" Alex stood up and shrugged at him.

"I don't know... maybe. Does seem kinda pointless, if I'm not sure." Hell, it really _did _seem pointless. He really had no idea what it was he wanted to study... and he _did _have responsibilities here. 

Damn. Maybe the kid brother had a point.

"Just saying, man," he was grinning now, suddenly not looking quite so worried or... whatever that had been, as he had when he'd first come in. 

"It's something to think about, anyhow," Scott admitted.

"Alright dude, well, you think about it. I gotta go to bed."

Scott cocked his head at his brother. Hadn't he come here to talk about something? "You alright?"

The younger boy nodded, and his hair fell over his eyes, hiding the one thing that could've given Scott a good clue into his state of mind as he replied. 

Not having a good enough view, Scott would have to accept what he was told. 

"Yeah, no worries. Just wanted to talk for a few, you know, check in. Night, bro."

"Night Alex."

The door closed behind his brother, and Scott turned to see that his internet messenger was blinking. Jean. Saying goodnight.

He smiled to himself, for the first time that day, and started to type out a reply, strange depressive funk suddenly forgotten, for the moment.

  


Alex swore under his breath as he closed the door. That hadn't gone exactly as planned. 

He was, by nature, a happy, outgoing, fun-loving guy. This sort of thing didn't come naturally to him, this weird... fear. Fear of talking to someone.

But hell... he really needed to talk to someone. Because it was starting to make him a little crazy, to be honest.

He'd lived with it a long time. Hard not to notice something like that, once you hit puberty, really. Kinda like ignoring a mutation. Only, as it turned out, his mutation was even harder to ignore. In fact, between the semi-pros and trying to learn how to control his powers on his own, it'd been pretty easy to ignore the other stuff for the past couple of years. Well, not ignore, that would be impossible, but to at least write it off as a kinda phase, or a fluke, or a minor obsession.

But now that things were calmed down...

Not that spending hours a day in the Danger Room didn't keep his mind off it. At least, until they got into the locker room. Then, it was kinda hard not to notice.

And of all people... he almost felt like he was betraying some kind of like... sacred trust, or something. 

He'd wanted to talk to Scott. Since he'd found his big brother again, he'd really come to know and love him. Sure, he was a little straight edge, but he did it well. He could walk the walk, talk the talk, so whatever, right? Everyone has their thing, and it was cool that his was being the Boy Scout. Alex wasn't much of a bad boy himself, really. All he needed was loud music, and the odd adrenaline rush (preferably involving a wicked wave) and he was good.

Well, that, and at the moment, he really needed someone to talk to.

But Scott was brooding. And Brooding Scott, he knew, was not the one to confess something like this to. Or the one to come to for help. It'd only make things worse, for both of them, telling him about it right now. Alex didn't want to end up wishing he'd kept his mouth shut. Nothing was worse than that feeling. 

But damn, he needed help. ASAP. Hella bad.

Which left him with only one option, really. An option he was not particularly interested in pursuing, but he'd had a stomach ache for a week straight now, because it was really starting to get to him. It was like the whole thing was just building up in his shoulders, in his back, in his head, right behind his eyeballs, and...

He had the Danger Room to release it in. But not the perpetual soothing sound of the ocean, to wash it away after. It always came right back, here, landlocked as he was.

So he had to say something. Had to ask the question.

He knocked on the door, and steeled himself for the worst. It's not like they were great friends, after all. And dude was kind of a fucker. Not that Alex was scared of him, like some of the other New Mutants, because he really wasn't. But the guy wouldn't exactly be his first choice for a confidante. If it was about _anything _else, he wouldn't even have considered this. But who the fuck else could help him out, this time? Who else could answer the question that was eating at him? He needed someone older. And really... someone experienced. 

He just wanted to be _happy_ again. 

So he sucked in a deep breath, and waited as he heard footsteps coming toward the door.

He let the air out, as he heard the lock turning. 

And he tried to smile, as the door began to swing open.

His voice caught nervously in his throat, and he could _feel _his palms sweating, his stomach jumping, as he greeted a half-naked, messy-haired Jean-Paul Beaubier, obviously ready for bed. "Hey, man. You got a minute, by chance?"

  


Now this was... odd.

Really. Just fucking... odd.

Alexander Summers, Little Summers, as he'd come to think of the pretty blond boy, knocking on his door at eleven PM, looking like he'd just had a pot of coffee and a few too many cigarettes. Looking nervous. Looking scared. 

The big brown eyes gave him away.

Well fuck. What was he supposed to think of this one? "Something wrong?" Jean-Paul gestured toward one of the chairs near the desk, and sat in another facing it, pulling his warm-up-pants clad legs up under him, so that he was sitting Indian style, and pulling his work out tank top on quickly, when he saw it hanging over the arm of the chair. It was only Alex, after all, but still. Might as well make an effort not to be rude, right?

"Um... not really," the kid wasn't even looking at him as he sat down in the chair uneasily. "I'm just a little weirded out right now and I kinda need someone to... talk this out with me."

Jean-Paul raised an eyebrow. Now _those _were words he did not often hear directed at him. Not to mention words he wasn't sure he particularly _wanted _to hear directed at him. Alex was an alright guy and all, they'd always gotten along-- which was saying quite a lot for the argumentative Jean-Paul-- but... this was not the sort of thing he expected from the younger boy. "Right well... you're freaking me out, Summers, so how about you just spill it?"

Alex took a deep breath, looking at the floor, golden-blonde hair hiding most of his face from view. And then he looked up, and the fear in his puppy dog eyes was even more evident than before. "Dude... alright, look, don't get pissed at me, but I don't know who else to ask about this, ok?"

Suddenly, things began to make sense. There was really only one thing he was the acknowledged authority in the house on... but he simply nodded, and kept his speculation to himself. 

"So like... how do you know if you're... gay?"

Right. Yes, that was what he'd figured. He blew out a quick, hard breath, and raked a hand through his hair, trying to think of what he could possibly say to this kid to... well, to make it easier. 

Yeah, usually he wouldn't be bothered about being nice about it. But fuck. Look at that face. He looked about five years old, with those big eyes looking up at Jean-Paul like that. He was cold, maybe, but he wasn't _completely _heartless. Alex was for real, on this, he knew that instantly. He wouldn't have come here, if he wasn't. And he was afraid.

And Jean-Paul remembered afraid all too well.

So he smiled at Little Summers, hoping it didn't look too much like his usual sarcastic grin, and shrugged. "Well, it's pretty clear when you look at attractive men and your jeans are suddenly too tight, basically. That sort of thing."

Slowly, the blonde boy nodded, looking back at the floor. "Yeah... ok that makes sense."

They were quiet for a minute then, and Jean-Paul searched around for something to say, while simultaneously cursing the Summers brothers for making him develop this utterly abhorrent caring and nurturing side of himself.

But shit. That kid... he was that kid, not too long ago.

"Want to tell me what makes you ask such a question, Alex?"

The younger boy met his gaze again, and he smiled wryly. At least that was a good sign... "I'll give you three guesses."

"See an attractive man?"

"A few."

"Want to get on them?"

The smile on his face suddenly broke free and became genuine, and a half-laugh was in his words. "Somethin' like that, man."

"How long now?"

Alex shook his head, still laughing softly, and finally brushed his long hair out of his face. "Fuck man, hell if I know. Just kinda... happened, you know? Noticed I wasn't really _interested _in girls, not like that. Always thinking about guys when I--," he stopped there, and his eyes suddenly widened in horror, obviously at what he'd almost implied about his "alone time."

Jean-Paul could not help but laugh, albeit gently, at that expression of pure terror of embarrassment on the other boy's face. Goddamn, this was giving him flashbacks. Felt like yesterday, when he was looking at Alex like this. What it's like to be afraid of yourself, to keep everything bottled up inside because you're afraid that if you tell anyone, they'll think you're sick, a freak. Yeah. He remembered that part. 

Normally, he didn't allow himself to remember such things. He hated to think that he'd ever been weak, ever been ashamed or scared or confused. Liked the idea that he'd always known exactly what to say, what to do.

But he _had _been scared, once upon a time. And he could see it in the normally carefree Alex Summers right now. Jean-Paul knew, somehow, that if someone hadn't been there for him back then, he'd still look like this kid in front of him, wide-eyed and nervous and...

Fuck. Goddamn Summers boys. Making him into a sucker. "Yeah, that's familiar. Whatever, don't worry about it. You're talking to the right guy, you realize."

And as he said it, he realized that he wasn't just bullshitting. At first, he'd been wary... but hell. He actually _wanted _to help. 

Fucking weird, that. But why try and analyze it? Might as well give in, at this point.

"I know it's really strange, me coming to you like this," Little Summers was shaking his head again, "but I just-- you know. I had to make sure. Saying it out loud makes it like... real, you know? And I wanted to talk to Scott, but he's all angsting. And anyhow what the fuck would he know about it?"

"Absolutely nothing, trust me," Jean-Paul chuckled, surprised to find himself at ease, all of the sudden. He leaned back in his chair and didn't bother schooling his expression like he usually did. For no particular reason. He just... didn't feel the need to, instinctively. "His attempts at flirting are pitiful."

Alex wrinkled up his nose, "He flirts with you?"

Jean-Paul shrugged, "Only because I flirt with him, to be irritating. He thinks he's irritating me back, but really, he's amusing me."

A blond eyebrow arched sharply, and a lopsided grin appeared. "That's kinda fucked up."

"And they say I have no sense of humor," He intoned, dryly.

That bright, white smile broke through on Alex's face now, and he laughed again, "Whooo, were they wrong!"

"Anyhow, whatever," The speedster waved his hand in the air as if brushing that topic away, "I understand. Not that I'm particularly suited for the role of confessor, or whatever, but... shit, I'm not much older than you. And I don't know how the hell you've kept quiet this long."

Alex rolled his eyes, "Dude, don't even ask. I've had the worst stomach ache for a week now..."

"So, who is it?"

That blonde eyebrow arched again, sharply.

Jean-Paul rolled his eyes at that. Alright, so maybe not everyone had to admit it because of a certain guy they were obsessing over. But he certainly had. Canadian ski team. He was thirteen years old. Hell... might've been twelve...

Fuck, how embarassing that had been. He had to fight to keep from squirming at the memory of it, in fact. If not for Raymonde...

"Look, you don't have to tell me," he smiled, pushing away his memories quickly, before they could make him blush like a little girl. He did not need to be thrown off balance remembering what a bumbling idiot he'd been during adolescence. Thank god that was over... well, aside from that whole hyper libido thing. But then, he wasn't sure that would _ever _be over. "I'm just curious. I was obsessed with one of my teammates, when I was on the ski team. Couldn't stop thinking about it."

Little Summers shut his eyes tight, like he was trying to get rid of some kind of bad mental image, and licked his thin lips nervously. "Ah... dude..."

"Alright, ok," he laughed, figuring he could just keep him talking and get it out of him that way. "So... you're alright with the idea of it? I mean, you're not one of those homophobic self-loathing closeted gay boys, are you?"

Another laugh, and Alex relaxed again, pulling a hand through his long hair and scratching at his head. "No, man, I'm not. Well, closeted, yeah ok. I... I mean, it's not that I think there's something _wrong _with me. I just kinda... don't say anything to anyone, ok? Not yet. I just need time to sort my head out."

Jean-Paul nodded, "Of course. It's not my choice to make, anyhow." Alex still looked like he had something to say, however, so he asked him another question to keep him talking. He didn't know anything much about getting people to talk, but he knew that inertia was pretty much everything. Once people got started, they had a tendency to ramble on forever, and once they got stopped, it was a fight to get them moving again. "So, what is it that you need to sort out? I mean, what _do _you think about it?"

"I think...," Havok bit at his lower lip thoughtfully and furrowed his brow, "I probably need to get laid. So I'd better get this over with and admit to it soon."

This time, Jean-Paul was laughing. "Right, yeah, that _would _help."

"It's weird," the other boy started now, leaning back in his chair and slouching down, so that he looked like he might begin to slide out of it at any moment. "I mean, now that I said it aloud and stuff... maybe it's you, because you're so cool about it, like it's nothing big, but it doesn't seem like that big a deal."

"Should it?"

"Yeah, I think so. I mean, I'm not _supposed _to be like this, right?"

Jean-Paul furrowed his brow, trying not to remember when he thought the same exact thing.

Fuck. What a difference a few years can make.

"Look," he shook his head to clear it, and raked a hand through his hair thoughtfully, combing at it absentmindedly, "whoever told you that is fucking sick. The fact of the matter is, it makes no difference. You could be queer or straight or fucking anything that doesn't get out of your way fast enough, but at the end of the day, who are you? Alex, right? Doesn't matter who you're fucking, you're still Alex. You like yourself?"

The blonde boys eyebrows were nearly at his hairline, as he answered, "I guess I'm ok."

"Alright, that's pretty good. More than most people have. So whatever all that shit is about you, that makes you think you're ok, would sleeping with a man change any of it?"

"No dude, has nothing to do with..."

And then, Jean-Paul had the pleasure of watching understanding dawn on Alex's face, as he figured out just what it was he meant.

"Nothing to do with that at all," the younger boy finished, now shaking his head slightly, and sitting up in his seat a little more.

"Right, so whatever. So you like boys, big fucking deal, right? That's not all you are. Sure as fuck isn't all I am. I don't even know all I am yet. Jesus, I'm eighteen years old. I used to be a skier, and I'm an X-Man now, somehow. I like Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin and Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. I have a twin sister who I just met months ago, and I grew up stealing shit in the streets of Montreal."

Alex just kept nodding, brow furrowed. 

So, Jean-Paul prompted him, "Right, your turn. Queer Boys Un-anonymous meeting here, remember?"

The other boy blinked. Then smiled, and started slowly, his voice gaining both speed and confidence as he spoke. "Oh ok. So... I guess... I used to live on the beach in Hawaii. I worked at a surf shop last year, and hated having to go to school, because it meant I had to leave the waves. I have a brother I thought I'd lost, and parents who love me. I like pineapple and anchovy pizza, and I hate when my mom buys me briefs for Christmas."

"Amen to that," Jean-Paul agreed. Thank god for boxer-briefs.

"No shit."

"You should talk to Kurt about the pizza, I swear he eats the same thing..."

"Really? Wow... I thought I was the only one."

"Kurt will eat anything."

"True."

"Anyhow," Jean-Paul waved in the air again, "wasn't hard to think of about eighty things about yourself that had fuck all to do with wanting to sleep with..." he let it trail off, hoping Alex might feel compelled to fill in the blank for him.

"Nice try, but no way," Alex wasn't giving up that secret... yet. But he laughed aloud, and tucked his legs up under him, now looking totally at home.

Jean-Paul raised his eyebrows. Not that he _needed _to know who it was Alex was interested in... but he _was _curious. "Damn. But you understand, right? You see what I'm saying?"

"Yeah, man, I get you. It's like... when you're just living, and not spending all that energy pretending you're something you aren't... being what you are is like so easy. That's cool, man, I get it."

The Canadian X-Man blinked, trying to wrap his head around what the kid had just said. Was that some kind of surfer-speak that inlanders like Jean-Paul couldn't possibly comprehend? But hell, Alex was smiling, so he figured that was good enough. "Date a lot of girls?"

He nodded, smiling lopsidedly, "Yeah, a few."

"Didn't you have trouble...?"

"Yeah, everyone thought I was _such _a nice guy."

"Wow," Jean-Paul shook his head, unable to resist at least one joke. "Well, you _are _a Summers."

"Yeah, true. And I _am _a nice guy, honestly."

Yeah, he'd figured that much. But, "That could change. But seriously, you're alright? You like guys, but you're just Alex. Doesn't change a thing about you, it's just... you."

That was the most important thing he'd ever learned, in his entire life probably. A mutant. A queer. A skier. A scrapper. An athlete. A thief. A brother. 

Didn't matter. He was always Jean-Paul.

"You're right. Totally right, man. It's kind of a big deal... but kind of not."

"Sure man."

"It _does _change some things..."

Jean-Paul shrugged. "I'm not going to lie and say it doesn't. Makes some things more complicated, but no more so than for anyone else... just in a different way, I suppose."

"Dude..." Alex was chewing his lip again, his fingers drumming out some kind of rhythm on the arm of the chair, as if he were getting nervous again. He flipped his long hair out of his eyes, and asked, "Seriously, tell me, are you into Maximoff? Not that we're like best friends and you should tell me that stuff but... I mean... how do you deal with him being all... straight and shit?"

"First off, he's in the fucking family, he just doesn't know it," Jean-Paul answered, after a hard swallow and a quick brainstorm on how to avoid the first question.

"Um... what family?"

He arched an eyebrow, regaining control of his expression once he saw Alex's confused look. "It's just an expression."

"Oh... right, ok. Cool. So he's like... into you?"

"... the thing about being into some guy who isn't into you... it's no different than for any breeder who's into some girl who isn't interested. Maybe, if the guy isn't gay, he's not into you because of that, and it feels shitty, like you never even got the chance... but fuck it, if he's not into it." Right. Dodged the question _and _made that sound way easier than it ever felt. Good work.

"So... how do you like... get over it?"

Ok. Now he _really _wanted to know who it was. Because it _had _to be someone in the house. "Lust or love?"

"Dude... definitely not love."

"You're fucked."

"Great."

They just looked at each other for a moment, silently, Jean-Paul smirking and Alex wearing a look that said "thanks a lot," brilliantly sarcastic and plain as day. And then they both started to laugh.

Felt good, really, sitting here talking to the kid. _Not a kid_, he reminded himself. Only about two years younger than him. Old enough to know what he wanted. Old enough to ask the question.

Pretty brave of him, really. Jean-Paul often wondered if he would've been able to ask someone, had Raymonde not talked him into telling him what was going on. But he'd been a lot younger, at the time...

"No, seriously, I don't know. How does anyone get over that? You don't, for awhile, and then eventually, you do. And love would be worse, I guess, so really you're far from fucked, but I'm not the person to be asking about that shit," he tried to answer the question honestly, even though he was still grinning at the younger boy. Not bothered if his face showed how he felt, for the moment.

"Yeah, ok, I get it. So uh... Maximoff..."

Jean-Paul arched an eyebrow and tried to look cool again. But it was too late, because he was still smiling.

Ah fuck.

"Look... I'll make you a deal, alright? You tell me who it is, I tell you about Maximoff. And tomorrow, we pretend that we weren't behaving like little girls at a slumber party, nod at each other coolly in the hallways, and never speak of this to anyone else as long as we live." What the hell. Jesus, it might be kind of nice to get a male opinion on the whole thing... Rogue was the only one who knew, and she could barely stop making disgusted faces at the idea of kissing Pietro Maximoff to be helpful...

Not that he needed help.

Just that... fuck. Might be interesting. And he really did want to know who it was Alex was dreaming about, for curiosity's sake.

Alex was smiling at him, lopsidedly again. "Alright... deal." 

"Let's have it."

"You first."

"Forget it, man, you!"

"Dude!"

"Don't be such a pansy bitch, Summers, just spill it."

Alex's smile grew larger, despite his obvious attempts to stop it, and he started to laugh. "... my roommate."

"Oh, ouch!" Jean-Paul was laughing at that. "That's fucking awful man, sorry to hear about that. Not your taste, I mean the situation. I'd totally do Ray." Wow. Made so much sense, as to why the kid suddenly needed to let it out. Sharing a room with someone you're attracted to, but can't... do anything about. Yeah. That's a bitch.

Alex covered his face with both hands, laughing aloud, "Oh man, I cannot _believe _I'm having this conversation."

"Fun, isn't it?"

The surfer kid peeked through his fingers, grinning, "Honestly... yeah."

"Love those shoulders. And Christ, how old is he? His chest is more cut up than _any _of the X-Men. Once, he did this thing in the Danger Room with us, when Xavier had us mix up the teams a few weeks ago, ripped his shirt right in half. That was all the convincing I needed."

Alex started laughing even harder, turning pink in the face from it. "Jesus, JP, you're horrible."

"I'm an eighteen year old male," he shrugged, totally unapologetic. "I need no more excuse for my libido. It knows no bounds." 

"Yeah," the younger boy finally uncovered his face, and seemed to be calming down, "Speaking of which, you were supposed to be telling me about Pietro."

He grimaced, "I suppose it's only fair."

"So what about it? Dude is into you?"

He shrugged, "Yes. It's complicated though. He obviously is... he just doesn't understand it yet. I mean...," ah fuck. How to explain this situation to someone who hadn't seen the whole thing unfold, like Rogue had. He'd never talked about it before... "Alright, so back at that party, you remember, this summer at Amanda's?"

Alex nodded, somewhat enthusiastically, causing golden hair to fall back into his eyes. But it was more of a reckless thing this time, than the boy trying to hide from him. 

Cute kid. He'd do alright. Fucking gorgeous hair, and a prettier face than his brother, who had that heroic square jaw going on. "I kissed him, after I nearly dropped him."

One eyebrow raised up, "No shit?"

"Yes, but so fast, only he could tell. And Jeanne-Marie... but that's another story. And since then, we've been mates and all... but you know it's weird...," he looked around suddenly. For some reason, talking about this was making his mouth dry. "You want a Coke?" 

"It's like... midnight."

"Oh, it's caffeine free, I assure you. Scott raided me two days ago, I've been on the wagon since."

Alex chuckled, "Yeah, alright. Keep talking though, flyboy."

He rolled his eyes, but found that he actually... wanted to keep talking. So he went to the mini fridge he kept near the bed, and pulled out two Cokes as he talked. "It's weird because I obviously wanted him, and he kept flirting. I figured he just liked the attention and all, because that's the way he is-- Look at me, I'm fucking amazing-- that kind of thing. And since I tend to agree with him on that, I imagined that was why he took to me. But the other night...," he handed Alex a can and opened his own, considering again what had happened. He'd told Rogue, of course. But telling someone as random as Alex... it was almost like talking to a shrink. Didn't matter much what he said to him, because he didn't personally care about his opinion. He liked that idea, really. So he sat back down in his chair, took a drink, and said, "We got fucked up and ended up kissing."

The younger boy's eyes grew wide, "Holy shit dude, when?"

"Two weeks ago, or something."

"And...?"

"Absolutely fucking nothing since."

"Dude... doesn't that strike you as a little strange?"

"Yeah, because he's supposed to be here, right now, preferably naked and in my bed. Either that, or being busy never speaking to me again. But like I said... he's repressed."

Alex just shook his head, "Man, I've heard that guy called a lot of things, but never _repressed_."

"First time for everything, so they say. And honestly, what the fuck else could be the problem?"

Little Summers blinked at him, pausing with the Coke can at his lips, in mid-drink, as if shocked to realize that he was actually being asked for an opinion. He finished the drink, eventually, and put it back down. "Um... well, if he wants you..."

"Survey says, yes," Jean-Paul nodded. "I didn't think it could be for real, at first. Figured he just liked the attention But man, it was pretty fucking obvious, even if I was a little too fucked up at the time to think of it like that. I mean, when you like something that much... it gets hard to hide."

This made Alex laugh again, "Sounds legit. Then yeah, I guess he's just confused. Whatever man, just do it. He'll thank you for it."

He considered this, carefully. He hadn't _really_ considered that course of action, honestly. "You think so?"

"Man, _I _would've thanked you a few months ago. Just because you would've cleared shit up for me." As soon as he said it, Alex turrned a little pink in the cheeks and looked at the ground. "Not that I was... I mean I didn't... I just mean..."

As much as Jean-Paul normally enjoyed the discomfort of his fellow students, particularly when he was the one causing it, he decided not to let the guy fumble around for too long. He was alright, after all. "I know what you mean, don't get all choked up on me. Jesus, you really _are _Scott's brother."

"Some things can't be denied," Alex was returning to a healthier shade of tan now, and he took another drink quickly. As if his mouth was getting dry, now. 

"Don't I know it. You know my sister..."

The other boy laughed "Yeah, you two are pretty stuck with that, now that you know each other. No denying that one." 

"So it would seem," he nodded. "Anyhow, there's the story. And only you and Rogue know, so feel privileged. And if you breathe a word, I'll personally execute you in the most painful, slowest way possible, because I don't want half the house talking about me sucking on Pietro Maximoff's fingers."

Alex's eyes popped, "Dude... you left that part out."

Hrm. So he had. Must be getting tired. "Well, now you know."

"And knowing is half the battle."

Jean-Paul just blinked at him, confused.

"Don't tell me... you didn't get GI Joe in Quebec?"

"Er... afraid not. Or I just never met him..."

"Your loss man. Your loss."

  


Returning to his room at one AM, Alex felt a hell of a lot better.

That had gone so much better than he'd expected. He'd expected a halting confession out of himself. Which he'd gotten. A surprised look and a quick, grumbled reply from JP. Which he'd kinda gotten. And then a horrible fifteen-minute conversation wherein the resident Evil Sarcastic Prick, Jean-Paul Beaubier, gave him shit for asking him such a thing just because he was gay, followed by a lecture on how he did _not _help people with their problems and what had Alex been thinking to come here at eleven PM.

Which, luckily, he had not gotten.

Man, people really should give JP more credit than they did. He was alright, no matter what Sunspot said. Roberto was just a shit. Hell, if Alex had a sister, he wouldn't want her dating that guy either...

Though he wouldn't say no to a good make-out session, for himself. Dude was pretty hot.

See! Right there! And that was... ok. It was ok to think that, didn't mean he was weird or freakish or sick. Not that he had thought it did... well, ok, he had thought that for a little while, at first. But JP made it seem so... normal. Like it was nothing to be concerned about. Like it wasn't abnormal or strange or something to be ashamed of.

And he was right. It wasn't. It was just... whatever. Changed some things. Might make finding someone a little more difficult. Not to mention getting some action, around here.

But he wasn't the needy type, anyhow. So whatever.

And the rest of the issues, the whole subculture and the agendas and the stigma and the bullshit he'd get from people who weren't bothered to know him anyhow... he could deal with that when he got there. 

He turned the doorknob, trying to be quiet enough to let Ray, who was a really light sleeper, get his rest. He slipped inside, closed the door, and walked quietly to the far side of the room. Halfway through pulling off his jeans, he heard his roommate moving around under his covers, and then a groggy, "Dude, what the fuck are you doing? It's like one o'clock."

He smiled to himself, and pulled off his shirt, then threw it into the pile of dirty clothes the two of them were amassing between the beds. "Was just talking."

"With _who_?" Berserker pushed away his covers, to the waist, and sat up in bed, rubbing at his eyes.

Alex just looked at him for a second, figuring he might as well enjoy. JP had been right, about the chest and the shoulders. He had a good eye, apparently. "Jean-Paul," he admitted, climbing up into bed after a moment.

"_Beaubier_?"

He chuckled at his roommate's disbelieving tone. "You know many Jean-Pauls, Ray?"

"Fuck you," the sleepy boy laughed. "What the hell do you two have to talk about until one AM?"

"Just stuff, man. Just hanging out."

Ray shook his head, and Alex could see him clearly in the moonlight through the window, hair sticking up insanely, looking at him like he'd lost his mind. "You're really fucking weird sometimes, Summers."

"He's alright," Alex slid down into the covers and put his head on the pillow, on his stomach, turning his head to face his roommate. "If you just get to know him, he's cool. You should think about it, if you're interested in JM. He tried to kill Berto last week, I heard."

"Na, she's cool and all, but she's not my type," Ray seemed satisfied with his explanation and slid down into the bed again, pulling the covers back up over him, then stretching his arms up and behind his head.

"Thought you liked her," he replied, honestly. Dude definitely flirted with her enough, that was for sure.

"Whatever, man, she's a really cool girl. I like her a lot. But she's... I don't know. I'm just not down for that whole girlfriend thing. It's a pain in the ass," he was yawning now, and stretching out like an overgrown cat under the covers.

Alex just closed his eyes, still smiling. He still felt bad about... well, _wanting_ his roommate. Seemed like he was breaking some unspoken code. An Unwritten Law of Men. But hell, not much he could do about it. "Yeah, that's the truth. Sorry I woke you up, dude."

"Whatever, man. Everything wakes me up, always has since I was a kid."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It was kinda fucked up back then. Whaver, it's cool. Night. Catch you on the flip side."

Alex considered asking him about that-- about what, exactly, had been fucked up back then. But considering the speed at which his friend had rolled over that statement, he probably didn't want to talk about it. Some problems, he figured, were best left alone. And some needed to be talked out. But they all had their time. "Yeah, man. Night."

And anyhow, they were both tired. So he closed his eyes, and went to sleep. Feeling like someone had lifted a huge weight off his shoulders. A weight he hadn't even realized was there, until it was gone.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


+++++++++++++++++++

AN: I'm sure that a lot of you don't get why I put this chapter here. But let me tell ya something. I use a lot of old school AF references, but this one is actually a reference to Chuck Austen's JP. If you can believe it. Xavier invited him to teach at the Institute, in the Marvelverse, because he thought his students needed to realize that mutants aren't the only minority in the world, and to act as a sort of... example to the children. Or yeah, even someone they could come to. Initially, JP said he didn't think he'd do it. But after an incident with a young mutant whose life he was trying to save, but ended up losing, he changed his mind and agreed to stay and teach. Yes, he's a snarky bitch. But the man has a heart. As for Alex... Evo Alex is pretty much a non-entity at the moment. He surfs! Woohooo! Why Ray? Because 1- I once read something, though I now forget what, that had the two paired up and thought it was adorable, 2- He's cool as fuck, and 3- He has no canon to argue with. And I agree with JP, I'd totally do Ray.

Moving on!

_Risty:_ Claremont's Berto is just... irritating. Which kinda sucks, but then... that's Roberto. At least he looks good on the cover! And I hate having him called Bobby. Iceman is Bobby. That's that! Pretty Vacant is also my favorite Sex Pistols song, woohoo. Great minds, eh? As for the slash, we won't be seeing Alex/Ray any time soon, so don't worry. But yeah... Pietro is so utterly closeted. We all know. Why doesn't he?!

_Caliente: _Oh good lord, don't worry about reviewing every chapter. I review yours cause I always think of things to say while I'm reading, and I can't keep ma big mouth shut. "The next real Evo venture" would be the next fic that's planned after this. Actually, I have a few AU and 616 things planned before I hop back into Evo, but in the next Evofic, the Swamp Rat will make his return. He is, to be honest, my all time favorite mutant. I have to use him, I have no power over it! As to Ray having canon past... yeah he was a Morlock. He also had a heinous mohawk. If you ask me... that really doesn't count ;)And Berto... yeah ok he's a jerk. But he's so pretty :D Thanks for the reviews, you're too kind.

_Fata Morgana:_ Actually, in my opinion... boys usually are much more fixated on sex. But then, I've been called an ice princess, so my opinion probably shouldn't count. The Brotherhood was indeed booted out of school (then invited back, only to be booted again!) But I have decided that someone wrote a letter and got them back in. When I do the shopping sideline thing (along with a few other stories for in between these ones) I have Wanda explain it. No idea when I'll publish those ones, but I did actually have a plan. And yes, JM was far too forgiving in the last chapter. But I did it for a reason. I do have more planned for the two of them, and if I say anything more... it'll give it all away. Suffice it to say, she will toughen up eventually. And yeah, the twins are gonna spend an awful lot of the next fic fighting for various reasons. As I'm sure you can imagine, having read these stories ;) I've set them up for some rocky times ahead...

_Regret: _Incoming JP/Pietro! See next chapter for details!

_Sue: _*MWAH* Glad the ending worked out. I was scared...

_Guidi_: Mexico! Go you! It's freezing up here, send me some sunshine. I too am American... but aren't we fun to make fun of? Almost as fun as making fun of Canadians! I mean.. Er... anyhow, I agree on your choice of boy toys. Love them cocky. Mmmm, gotta love the bastards!

_Shaman Dani_: I appreciate the encouragement, even if you can't think of much to say. Still means a lot to me. ;)

_Akuma no Tsubasa: _I wouldn't say that this was extremely interesting... but it gets better! This fic, being just a set of one-shots in succession, basically, I've been trying to keep things pretty basic. But I keep wanting to tell stories, and they keep coming out... I don't know, I'm just glad you're entertained! And as for the next part... should be interesting to see how people react, that's for sure.

  


Much love -Beaubier-


	10. Homecoming in the Closet

WARNING: This story contains m/m themes, albeit nothing terribly huge. More than last time, less than next time, let's say. But hell, you're reading a set of stories in which one of the main characters is a gay man, so if you weren't ok with that, you probably wouldn't have made it this far anyhow...

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Homecoming in the Closet

_Wherein Jean-Paul has a stalker, and Pietro has to face facts_

_Telltale Quote: Don't start a catfight with me, Pietro. I still have your hair in my hands. --Jean-Paul Beaubier_

  


Jean-Paul Beaubier sighed to himself as he watched Gina Della Rocca make a beeline for him in the cafeteria. Tall, pretty, not the quickest of cats, but marginally intelligent, the blonde cheerleader would make a great catch for any number of idiot breeder jocks in the room. The ones who would be spending the rest of their days in Bayville, coaching the foodball team and reliving past glories until whatever god they believed in finally saw fit to wipe them from the face of the planet. 

He, however, was no breeder. Nor was he an idiot, or a jock (an athlete, of course, but a jock, never.)

So really, he wasn't that impressed.

He looked down hard into his food, and wondered where the fuck Pietro was. Or Wanda, for that matter. Or Jeanne-Marie or Rogue or anyone else would normally save him from such an uncomfortable situation as the one he was about to be put into.

Sometimes, it was a real bitch, being pretty.

And there she was, sliding her long legs under the table, and putting one of her sandaled feet against his. Leaning on one elbow prettily. Smiling at him.

Had she leared that from Jean Grey? He could've sworn he'd see the red-headed X-Man do the very same thing to Scott just the other day...

"Hello, Gina," he tried to smile, feeling extremely irritated. But he felt no need to cause a scene here in the cafeteria, and any sort of "slight" to Gina Della Rocca would no doubt do just that. The girl could bitch fight like a pro. 

"Hey sexy."

He looked up at her now, hoping he didn't look quiet as exasperated as he felt. "And to what do I owe the pleasure of your company this afternoon?"

Her foot slid up his leg, just a bit, and hooked under his knee.

He couldn't help it any more. He sighed, very loud.

Where the _fuck _was Pietro?

"Homecoming."

He blinked. "The game?" he hated, _hated _football. And football players. And cheerleaders, as of his first day at BHS. 

"The dance," she stuck out a full bottom lip at him, obviously trying to be coy.

He just looked at her, no longer in the mood to humor her even marginally. She was _not _going to do what he thoguht she was... no way...

His eyes darted around the room quickly, caught his silver-haired best friend talking animatedly with a few girls across the room.

And he began to clench his teeth. Mother. Fucker.

Then he looked back at her, and forced a smile. Painfully. "Yes, won't be long now. Shame I can't dance."

I heard Kitty Pryde say you're a great dancer."

He suddenly wished he was a more powerful psi, just so he could give Kitty a mental kick in the ass. 

"Got a date?"

Deep breath. Big lie. "Yes, actually." 

Huge lie, in fact. He wouldn't be caught dead at the event. But telling her that would only encourage her to prod at him further. And at this point in time he was _hardly _in the mood to humor her further. He'd have to get snarky with her, and soon.

He caught sight of Jeanne-Marie, out of the corner of his eye... sitting down in a far corner with Roberto, heads leaning close, conspiratorially. Paying no attention at all to the distress signal he _knew _she could feel coming from him. Probably shut off, so he couldn't find out what she and Berto were up to...

Fuck.

"How about you?" He tried to sound pleasant. Like he really was interested in her conversation.

Like he didn't feel at all compelled to stab her with his plastic fork.

She furrowed her ivory brow at him, "No... not yet."

He took a bite of... whatever the hell the mystery meat was today, and shrugged. "Shouldn't take long, I'd think."

"Who are you going with?"

He nearly choked. But he thought fast, as usual. "Someone from the Institute."

Her foot unhooked from under his knee, blessedly, as Pietro appeared at his side. "Hey there, Gina, what's a pretty girl like you doing with a loser like this?"

She smiled at him, over the table, and gave a fake, hollow laugh. "Nice way to talk about your friends, Pietro.

"He knows I love him. What's up?" the arrogant fuck settled next to him, tray piled high with what the students generally termed "Space Meat." Hamburgers, in reality. But it was apparently a reference to some cartoon about a green alien trying to take over the Earth, and a NASA created meat substitute, made from napkins.

Jean-Paul had no idea. He generally tried to stay away from television, and the poison it spread that was known as "pop culture." Music aside, of course.

Gina shot him a quick glance, as she replied to Pietro, "Just saying hi to Mr. Popularity." 

Pietro grabbed at his tray and prepared to stand. "Well, don't let me--"

Jean-Paul grabbed his leg under the table. Hard.

Pietro let out a little yelping sound, and his ass immediately hit the chair again, with a small thump.

"Thanks for stopping by Gina," Jean-Paul smiled at her sweetly, and squeezed Pietro one more time before letting go, digging his nails in as best he could, to make the implied threat even more serious. 

Her brown eyes narrowed at him, thoughtfully, and her rosebud lips curved in a smile. "Later."

He watched her go, and heaved an immense sight of relief.

"Owwwww," Pietro began to whine as soon as she was out of hearing range. "You gave me a fucking charlie horse!"

Jean-Paul snapped his head around to look at his friend, "You ever try to fucking leave me with one of _them _again and I'll give you a lot more than that."

"What, a pretty girl? Jesus, JP, I know you're into guys, but I had no idea it was because you were scared of girls!"

He reached up and smacked the back of the other boy's head, ruffling his silver hair. "Don't push it. I mean vacuous cheerleaders who want me to take them to Homecoming."

Pietro's eyes popped and he turned a bit red, as he nearly choked on a carrot stick. "She asked you to Homecoming?" he coughed.

"Tried. Told her I had a date," he cracked open his caffeine free Coke (damn the X-men and their caffeine ban...) and took a long drink. 

"You have a date?"

He rolled his eyes, "What, you're jealous?"

Pietro cackled evilly, "Fuck you!"

"No, you idiot, I do not have a date. As if I'd be caught dead at a school dance."

"Aww, I was gonna ask you," his friend sneered, looking remarkably like an imp.

Jean-Paul smacked him in the back of the head again, pretending he didn't notice the obvious subtext the conversation was picking up, and this time Pietro gave a little cry of protest. "Cute, Pietro. I told her I was going with someone from the Institute."

"Why didn't you just say no? I mean, you're Mister _I don't care what anyone thinks about me_. Just tell her you're gay and she'll fuck off." Pietro was back to cramming carrots into his mouth, and talking around them.

Jean-Paul had to look away, to keep his own lunch down. Why he was able to eat lunch sitting next to Maximoff every day, he wasn't quite sure. The guy's table manners were roughtly equivalent to Toad's... even if they were less obviously disgusting than swiping flies out of the air with his tongue. Luckily, however, Pietro was pretty enough to make up for it. That was probably what made it alright, in the end. "Because the reason I said no had nothing to do with being gay. And anyhow, I doubt that she'd understand. All she'd hear would be, "I don't want to," and the "because" would be summarily discarded, and the banshee wailing, scratching, and biting would ensue."

"True!" Pietro held up a carrot stick, as punctuation.

"What are you pouting for?" Wanda had come up before them now, and sat where Gina had been only moments ago. 

"I do _not _pout," Jean-Paul made a horrible face at her.

She rolled her eyes at him. 

"Hey, sis, why don't you go to homecoming with JP?"

Wanda looked across the table at her brother like he'd suddenly grown wings out of his forehead. "That's a joke right? As if I'd be caught dead near this place on that night." 

"That's what I said," Jean-Paul poked at his mystery meat, somehow no longer hungry.

  


What did you say to Gina Della Rocca?" Rogue was at his arm as they met up as usual before their seventh period trig class.

"That I couldn't go to homecoming with her because I was already going with someone," he reported, getting a sinking sensation in his stomach. So that was Kitty, Amara, and now Rogue who'd been questioned. The only other girl at the Institute was his sister... "_Marde_, tell me you said you were going with me, Rogue."

She winced, teeth clenched. "Ah'm sorry, JP. Ah Didn't know ah was supposed to. If you'd said somethin'..."

He sighed. "Forget about it. I didn't think she'd actually check my story out. Honestly, who checks out a story? Who _wants _to know when they've been summarily rejected?"

"Narcissistic bitches?"

He kissed the top of her head, thankful that at least someone he knew understood. "I adore you, you know." 

He sat staring at the teacher drawing on the blackboard, utterly incapacitated by the insanity of Gina Della Rocca. First off, he'd never shown any sort of interest, even friendly, in her. He didn't like her, in fact. Or any of her friends. Hardly his fault that they were interested in the new boy in town, was it? Probably thought he was cool because he was a mutant– dangerous or some other bullshit to that effect. 

Well, alright. Perhaps he was a little. And not bad looking, he knew. But Christ.

Who fucking _checks out _a story?

The thought raced through his brain as the clock moved excruciatingly slowly. The minute the bell rang, he made his way outside, made certain no one was looking, and became an instant blur of super speed. Hoping to avoid contact with Gina, and the rest of the world, for at least a few hours. 

Great, he had a stalker.

  


A knock on his door. "Jean-Paul, you have a visitor," came Jean's voice. She was in the house helping the Professor organize something or other that he, personally, couldn't give a flying fuck about, tonight. 

He rolled over on his bed, half dressed in jeans and nothing else, hair pulled every which way from his exertions over the trig homework he had no idea how to finish. He hadn't heard a damn word in class today, after all. Rogue and Kitty were busy with Mr. Logan, so he'd decided to start it on his own and... god, he had no idea what was happening in that class. "Who is it?"

"She says her name is Gina?"

He rolled his eyes. Jesus. Christ. Stalker.

Figuring he'd better take care of it now, he hopped out of bed and grabbed his standard issue X sweat shirt, grumbling curses under his breath in his native tongue, and went out the door pulling it over his head. Jean was standing in the hall, looking at him apologetically. He shot her a sinister glare, in no mood to explain himself, and blew right past her, moving too fast for anyone to see, until he was at the foot of the stairs. 

Gina was standing by the door, looking around, wide-eyed. When she looked up and saw him there, she jumped in surprise. 

He just stared at her. "You wanted to see me?"

She took a step forward, but he came to meet her instead, not really wanting her to get any closer to anything that was his, or involved him even remotely. It was bad enough that she'd had the stupidity to come to the Institute to find him...

She recovered quickly from her surprise, and planted her hands firmly on her hips. "You lied to me," she tried to look angry. But she was obviously checking him out, so it was rather difficult for her to be all that intimidating, really.

He suddenly, surprisingly, felt a bit dirty, the way she was looking at him.

Well now. There was a first. Not that he'd never felt dirty, of course, but usually he quite enjoyed it.

"Cut right to the chase, don't you?" He wasn't bothered about humoring her in his own home. He could be a sarcastic prick all he wanted, on his own turf, where her tantrum would only get her kicked out.

"Why did you lie?"

He shook his head, and leaned up against the wall, near the door, unwilling to invite her into the sitting room– the one place Xavier didn't really mind random guests. She was _not _invited to stay. "What do you want me to say? No, I don't want to go with you?"

She finally looked him in the eye for an extended period of time, and attempted to stare him down. As if her skinny blond physique was going to make him afraid. "Why the hell wouldn't you want to go with me?" her lips were pressed thin, and her normally ivory face going a shocking pink sort of color, quickly. This was not a girl who was used to hearing no, obviously.

"Because I don't–," he stopped there, for a moment. He _wanted _to say, _I don't like you_. But when he actually looked at her... she did look a bit sad. And she was probably someone's sister, after all. He wouldn't want someone to treat Jeanne-Marie like shit, and Jeanne-Marie could certainly be... well, crazier than this. Perhaps Pietro had been on to something, with that whole gay idea. "I don't like girls."

Her pale eyebrows drew down. "What does that mean, you don't like girls?"

He rolled his eyes. He'd have to remember to tell Pietro that he'd been right. Jean-Paul had _known_ somehow, that she wouldn't be able to wrap her mind around the concept. "I'm gay. Homosexual. I'm attracted to men, not women. Get it?"

Brown eyes went wide, and the pink color in her face returned to something almost normal. She took a step back, and put a hand to her chest. 

Oh yeah. Could've seen this one coming. Being a mutant is cool. But being _gay_? God, Beaubier, what a freak.

Talk about fucked priorities. 

"Anyhow," he continued rolling his eyes, "You're a pretty girl, I'm sure any number of strapping young football players would love to have you along to the dance."

She just looked at him, and her lips went thin. "Are you lying again?"

He sighed. Holy fuck, she was stupid. "I assure you, I am gay. I'd love to give you a demonstration, but I'm currently unattached."

She bit her lip. "Oh."

"Satisfied?" _Now can you stop _stalking _me_?

She nodded, and her face flushed again. Now, she was quite clearly embarrassed. "I... I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he sighed, pushing off the wall with one foot, and starting toward the stairs again, "I'm not. I lied so as not to offend you, let's just leave it at that, hm?"

Again, she nodded. 

"Lovely, Now, if you don't mind..." _God, please leave. Just fucking _leave. 

  
  


The next day at school started out perfectly normal. Laughing with Jeanne-Marie in homeroom. Chemistry and German were suitably uneventful. He and Rogue managed to get in a group together, rather than being assigned to random classmates in lit. And Wanda and Jeanne-Marie kept him entertained throughout history.

At lunch, however, things started to get a little strange. 

"Is it me, or is everyone who walks by us slowing down?" Roberto was asking, his dark eyes shifting uneasily.

Kitty shrugged. "Whatever. Probably just staring at the mutants having lunch."

"We should get you a sign, Freddy," Pietro snickered from beside him, "_Do not feed the mutant_."

The table, full of Brotherhood and X-Men, exclusively, laughed at that. Some gave disapproving stares, but most laughed.

It did seem that people were staring, however. It had happened purely by accident that they'd all ended up sitting together, at one of the larger tables. Usually they were broken up into smaller groups, but today Jean-Paul had needed to talk to Rogue about the trig homework, so he sat next to her, and she was across from Kitty, who was next to Lance. Pietro had sat next to Jean-Paul, as usual, Wanda across from them. Jeanne-Marie beside her, Roberto across from JM. Etc, etc, until the table was occupied entirely by mutants.

Old school segregation at its worst, really. It almost made him laugh.

Until he started to get the distinct feeling that they weren't just staring at the mutants.

They were staring at him.

Econ passed without incident, and they were doing archery in gym, so there wasn't much contact with anyone other than Freddy and Pietro, and only by choice, so he actually began to feel a little more at ease. Not that he cared, of course, if people really had been looking at him. Simply that he wasn't one for drama. He'd spent too many of his years before coming here in the public eye. These past months in Bayville had been quite a nice change for him– no cameras in his face, no image to live up to, just being a normal teenager. Well, as normal as possible, living at the Institute and being friends with Pietro Maximoff.

But it had always bothered him that people never seemed content to just... let him live.

It was probably nothing anyhow. Perhaps it had been just the freak table that had attracted all the attention. Perhaps it wasn't that little thing that was nagging at him in the back of his head. That he'd told one of the most gossipy, ridiculous girls in town that he was gay.

He really didn't mind. He had no intention of going into the closet. It simply was not his style, hiding, and he wasn't the least bit ashamed. If he had minded, he wouldn't have told Gina in the first place. And he knew that soon enough, if that was indeed the issue, it would become old news fast, and no one would care in a few days. 

But in the meantime, it was going to be a real pain in the ass, walking around pretending not to notice that people were talking about him. He had a feeling he'd end up in several fights, in fact, if it came down to it. And then he'd have to deal with Xavier, that stupid fucking principal... he just didn't feel like spending the energy to get through it all. 

_If_, of course, that's what all this was about. The staring.

Not that it was.

But it sure as fuck felt likely.

He was coming out of the locker rooms with Pietro after class, laughing and mocking the track coach, when he discovered that it was, indeed, the issue. 

"Hey, fairy, maybe you should stay the hell out of the locker rooms."

Pietro raised an eyebrow when the voice echoed behind them, and looked over at him, smile suddenly gone.

Jean-Paul rolled his eyes. He wasn't terribly worried. He wasn't going to enjoy this, of course, but he could definitely handle it. At worst, he'd have to kick someone's ass. And really, that'd feel pretty good. He used to like fighting, in fact, once upon a time. Good stress relief.

"Let's go," Pietro nodded forward, his meaning clear. He wanted to run.

Jean-Paul shook his head, surprised. Pietro could've taken out anyone in their gym class, any ten people in their gym class, without breaking a sweat. With his hands tied behind his back. "What, you're scared?"

"Hear me, fairy?"

Again, he rolled his eyes, and turned to face the offenders. "I'll assume you're talking to me, since I'm the only one with the pointed ears here, _non_?"

And when he finished, he was shocked to see, out of the corner of his eyes, Pietro speed up and disappear.

Fuck.

Why that little fucking...

Just... fuck.

But the two boys were coming toward him now, one much bigger than Jean-Paul and taking up much of the claustrophobic hall between the locker rooms and the gymnasium. The other boy was thinner, one of the soccer players. He had no idea what either of their names were. And he really didn't give a fuck.

Before, he'd just been irritated. 

Now, he was mad.

Fucking Pietro.

"Nothing to do with your ears, Frenchie. Everything to do with you being a fag," the soccer player sneered at him, squaring off eye to eye. Jean-Paul could see well enough that the boy was easily as big as he, but nowhere near as strong. Mutant powers aside, he probably could've handled them both, easily. The big one was too slow, and the little one too weak. 

Not that he was sure he could _put _his mutant abilities aside... but either way, he was now dying to fuck someone's day up. That dickhead had even called him French, which meant he now officially needed to stab him. 

Pietro... that fucking spoiled brat! Running out on him like that. He could handle it, Pietro knew he could. But... that was hardly the point. Some fucking friend.

"First off, I'm not French, I'm Québécois." Jean-Paul hissed through his clenched teeth. "And second, I'll go wherever I please."

"We don't want some homo in the locker room staring at us all changing. I swear to god, if I catch you in there when I am–," the Huge Kid started.

The hilarity of the statement diffused some of Jean-Paul's anger instantly. Typical. How utterly fucking typical. "Trust me, I'll be on the other side of the room, if you're in there."

"That supposed to hurt my feelings?"

Jean-Paul shrugged, now actually laughing a bit, albeit bitterly. "Your words, _mon ami_, not mine."

The big kid made a fist, and stepped toward him once.

Jean-Paul instantly dropped into a defensive stance, legs apart, one arm held out in front of him, one held near his chest. He could feel his entire body getting ready, wanting to start that vibration in him, wanting to let go. Drawn tight, like a bow waiting to be released. And he growled at them, low in his chest. "You have no idea how much I'd love to kick your ass. Please, fucking hit me."

Soccer Boy grabbed his friend's arm, however, before he could get near. "Dude, he's one of those mutants."

Well shit. Northstar sighed, and stood up straight again, forcing his body to relax, to adopt a stance that would be less threatening, to tempt them into it. "Don't let it turn you off, boys. What, you're not scared of some fucking fairy, are you?" _Oh god. _Please _let one of them try to hit me..._ Not as if they'd ever get close enough to him to connect, of course. But Jesus, he wanted an excuse to hurt someone, at that moment.

Huge Kid had death in his eyes. Without realizing, of course, that it would only be his own death, if anyone's. But soccer boy still held him back, and pointed one finger at Jean-Paul, in a sad attempt to be threatening. "Seriously man, we all know about you. Fucking fag."

"Oh, bravo, that was really painful," he sneered, still trying to egg them on, get them to attack him. "Excuse me while I go home and slit my wrists because some halfwit called me a fag. Jesus Christ, can't you come up with something a little more inventive, or has the American educational system truly failed you so completely?"

No matter what they said, it would mean nothing to Jean-Paul.

What meant something was that Pietro had bailed on him. And he wanted to choke someone. And since the silver-haired speedster was not present, anyone would do, really. And bigots were always a good target, since no one ever really missed them anyhow.

"If you weren't a fucking mutie–,"

But Huge Kid was cut off by a much huger figure– that of Fred Dukes. "You'd what?"

They turned, as one, to look at the Blob, who was coming down the hallway toward them all, eclipsing most of the light sources as he passed through the tight corridor.

The guy was a walking natural disaster, really.

"Got somethin' against mutants?"

They began backing up, and Jean-Paul was forced to do the same, to avoid contact with them.

"Nothin man," Soccer Boy stuttered. "Nothin against mutants! Just that this fucking faggot–,"

Freddy was growling now.

Jean-Paul was impressed. He'd never heard that before, from Fred. Quite scary, really.

"You're talkin' about my _friend_," Blob was rumbling, moving toward them faster and faster.

That impressed Jean-Paul even further. Heavily.

Even if he felt a simultaneous surge of disappointment. He still needed to hit someone, and the two assholes were now scampering around him, and down the corridor to freedom.

He stood watching them retreat, listlessly, while the gigantic shadow of Freddy loomed larger and larger over him, until he knew the other boy was just behind him. "That was nice of you, Fred."

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder. "No worries, JP."

"I could've handled it," he started walking, now that he'd done his civic duty and expressed his appreciation. And really, it _had _been extraordinarily cool of Fred.

Particularly considering that his own "best friend" (who, he was absolutely certain at this point, was a "fucking fairy" himself) had simply turned tail and run. 

"I know. But you looked pretty mad. Was afraid you'd hurt them, and get thrown out of school or something."

Jean-Paul looked up at the boy, as they emerged from the corridor and started walking side by side to their next classes. "You're alright, aren't you?"

Freddy shrugged, but grinned hugely.

But Jean-Paul was almost instantly back to brooding. He was used to insults. They didn't affect him, so much. He'd grown a thick skin, living in the public eye in Canada. Insults, praise, none of it meant anything unless it came from someone important. That much, he knew. 

But if he got his hands on Pietro Maximoff any time in the near future, he would make sure that fuckwit had trouble walking for the next few days. 

_Chrisse_. What a fucking burn.

  


"Hey, JP!"

He was outside, walking slowly through the woods behind the Institute, where he usually went to think. Just to be alone. Just to think. 

No, to brood, really. 

Once again, trig class had been a bust, because he was so fucking pissed off. The more he thought it over, the more he wanted to kill Pietro. After all that bullshit, about them being friends. After all the fucking... _flirting _the guy did. He just left.

And now, he _dared _to turn up here, at _his _spot. 

He supposed it was his own fault, for letting Pietro know this much about him, so that he knew where to find him. 

But he didn't much care. 

Jean-Paul ignored the silver haired boy pointedly, and started to walk back in the direction he'd come from, toward the far away house, intent on the sound of his feet crunching over the fallen leaves, or the smell of fall, or the sound of cars on the not-so-distant road. On anything but _him_.

If he looked at Pietro, he knew he'd have to hit him. He could feel it. He was already shaking inside.

"Oh, come on, you're not mad at me about that shit, are you?"

Jean-Paul tried very hard not to grind his teeth too loud. 

It wasn't _just _that they were supposed to be friends, either. It was that Pietro was a fucking idiot, in general. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, the boy was gay. And he'd run, really, because he was scared.

Ok, so Pietro had a reputation for liking women. And maybe he did. But come on. Jean-Paul had picked up on his vibe immediately. He'd held off judgment, decided it might just be wishful thinking. Maybe he just... had good taste. That was just a stereotype, after all. But all those times, when he'd caught Pietro looking at him, when he didn't think Jean-Paul would notice. All the times he'd picked up on something _more _in the flirting that they always passed off as jokes. And come on, that kiss, not even a month ago? Jesus, he'd had a tent in his jeans before their lips had come anywhere near each other.

If he wasn't gay, he was without question a serious switch-hitter. But what the hell. Man needs four dates in one night? Blames it on living too fast?

Yeah fucking right. Blame it on not being interested in any of them, more like it. How many nights had he and Pietro spent together now, just the two of them? The guy had seemed perfectly content then, hadn't he, with just one person?

Obvious. So fucking obvious. And Pietro was scared of it, and didn't want anyone else to know. And that's why he'd run. Didn't want to be seen with him, was afraid people would think he was "gay by association." He wasn't comfortable with himself yet, let alone with others knowing. Even if it was only suspicion. 

Great. Everyone goes through it, when they realize they might be "different." The fear. He'd felt it. He'd seen it in Alex Summers not so long ago, in fact. But not everyone has to bail on their friends to get through it. Jean-Paul knew, from experience. And this was just getting fucking ridiculous. 

"Ok, ok, but it's not like you needed me there, right? I mean, you probably just kicked their asses."

He felt one corner of his mouth twist upward in an involuntary sneer, and finally snarled at him, "Actually, Freddy came by and helped."

Pietro was positively bouncing next to him. "Freddy? What the fuck?"

"Yeah, he was afraid I'd kill someone."

"Oh," the other boy now sounded hesitant. Disappointed even, really.

Ashamed would be too much to hope for, probably.

But he couldn't resist rubbing it in further. "Said they should stop fucking with his friend."

"What friend?"

"Me."

A slight pause here, out of character for Quicksilver. Then another, "Oh."

Jean-Paul rolled his eyes, and kept walking, refusing to look at him. What an absolute twat. Forget it. Just fucking forget it. No one was cute enough to warrant this kind of treatment. Pietro absolutely did not deserve to have him. Not as a friend, not as anything.

"So... you _are _mad then?"

"Pietro, change your fucking code name to Captain Obvious, alright?"

"Whoa, no need for hostility there, partner."

"I'm not your fucking partner."

"Wanna be?"

"_Toê êcrasse_," he spat, unwilling to even speak to him so that he could understand. He figured the tone would speak for itself.

Pietro grabbed his arm now, and stopped walking.

Which, effectively, stopped Jean-Paul from walking.

"Look," Pietro shook his head, rolling his eyes, "I'm sorry, ok?"

Momentarily, Jean-Paul was stunned. Pietro had just said he was sorry.

But fuck that. Like that was all it was going to take. No, he had to make a stand, or he knew Pietro would forever think he could get away with treating him like this. And that was the kind of relationship, friendship or otherwise, that Jean-Paul Beaubier could do without. "Yeah, you sound like it."

"Whatdoyouwantmetosay?"

Jean-Paul just looked at him for a minute. Pietro had this sort of unconscious beauty about him, when he wasn't posing or pretending to look heroic. Something like a silver little god. Just the natural cockiness he had about him, something totally removed from his contrived arrogance– the effortless way he held his shoulders back, the sharp lines of his face, the streamlined angles of his body. He made pretty much everything look good, look easy, look like something to be coveted. 

Normally, Jean-Paul liked it. Liked looking at him, liked admiring that in him.

But today, it only made him want to punch him in the nose. Hard. And repeatedly. Instead he fished for the answer he knew was there, looking for a reason. A reason he should remain friends with this guy. If he could admit the truth... maybe. "You can't say anything. It's too late, you've already shown what kind of friend you are, haven't you? Why would you run? It's not as if they could touch either of us."

Pietro suddenly let his eyes drop to the ground. "Uh... don'tknow."

Yeah. Didn't think so. Jean-Paul started to walk away again. "It's fine," he said, leaving Pietro behind him now. "I understand if you're embarrassed to be seen with me. God forbid you should befriend a gay man, since you're hardly a freak yourself, or anything. I mean, what if they thought _you _were like me?"

But Pietro suddenly flashed in front of him, and put one hand on his chest, effectively stopping him from moving forward once again.

Jean-Paul could easily have made it around him. Assuming Quicksilver felt like letting him. Or, he could've taken to the air, where Pietro wouldn't stand a chance at following him, if he didn't want him to.

Instead, he just looked at his friend, expectantly.

And tried not to think about why he wasn't simply flying away. Told himself it was just because he wanted to watch Pietro try and squirm his way out of this.

When really, he still wanted to be convinced.

"Ok, look. You're right, I freaked," Pietro admitted, now looking him in the eye, "I was a little confused, ok?"

Jean-Paul gave a short, bitter laugh. "Yes, well, you are one confused mutant, _mon ami_, so I really shouldn't be surprised by that, I suppose."

Pietro's brow furrowed, "What's that mean?"

"Forget it. Can I go now?"

"No. Not until you accept my apology and we go get some coffee."

"Forgive me if I don't exactly feel like spending quality time with someone who denies my friendship at the first sign of trouble."

Pietro sighed now, and his broad shoulders slumped, arms dropping to his side.

Jean-Paul pretended that the sight didn't tug at something inside of him. Just a little.

"I'm trying to apologize. Why are you being a dick?"

Little tug, now gone. Jean-Paul's anger returned, in full force. "Holy fuck, Pietro, just get out of my way and let me walk home in peace. Self absorbed sonofa–,"

"Oh yeah," Pietro's blue eyes flashed now, and his mouth curled up in a sarcastic smile, "You're one to talk, man. Fucking cover boy."

"Don't even start, you fuck. I'm not the one who–,"

But he didn't get to finish, because he found himself suddenly being pushed backward, quickly. So quickly that if he were anyone else, he wouldn't have known what was happening until it was over. His back hit the tree, and he found himself trapped between it, and Pietro.

Bodily.

He could've escaped easily. Slid out of the other boy's grip with no problem at all. Levitated straight upward, and left Quicksilver with nothing to grab on to this time.

His mind knew that, of course. But the rest of him was far too enthralled with the feeling of Pietro's lean, long body holding him against the tree trunk. And Pietro's eyes, inches from his own, staring him down. 

He opened his mouth, however, to ask just what the fuck the silver-haired boy thought he was doing, just for appearances' sake.

And was immediately stopped when Pietro's lips were suddenly covering his own. 

Instinctively, he closed his eyes. And fought not to kiss back.

But really, who was he kidding? After only a moment, he let his lips, then teeth part to allow Pietro's tongue inside his mouth. And in another moment, he found himself ardently returning the gesture. Only this time, he wasn't fucked up. This time, he knew what he was doing, and so did Pietro. Pietro's hands were all over him, quickly, running down his arms, then brushing his face, then in his hair. Hooking into the belt loop of his jeans. Pulling down on them, just a little.

It was breathless, because it was unexpected. And it was anything but gentle. Pietro dove into him like he would try and run away, licking the roof of his mouth, sucking Jean-Paul's tongue into his mouth. Jean-Paul, momentarily unaware of how ridiculous it was that he should be kissing Pietro at this moment, broke the kiss and bit at his friend's full lower lip, and Pietro pushed against him eagerly, already half hard in his jeans.

Yeah, figures that he was quick. Suited him, really.

And the way he was impatiently pulling at Jean-Paul's clothes, pushing his hips against him like that, was definitely fucking hot. So very like him. To want it now. Fast. 

He slid his hands up Pietro's chest, appreciatively. He may have looked thin, but it was only because he couldn't hold body fat, with his metabolism. Every muscle there was as well defined and as strong as his own, just flatter, leaner. He put his hands in Pietro's soft hair...

And suddenly jerked him backwards, as he remembered what it was they'd been fighting about just a moment ago.

Pietro just looked at him, breathing hard, still pushing against him with his entire front. Shamelessly, beautifully aroused. Lips still parted, and pink from their hurried crush.

Fuck. God-_fucking_-dammit. 

No. No way. He had to do this. He couldn't let him get away with this, the devil. No.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Pietro leaned on him heavily.

Jean-Paul fought not to groan, as he felt the other boy's erection push against his leg now. It made him a bit dizzy really. Or maybe that was just the blood rushing out of his brain, straight to his groin.

Oh Jesus. So fast. So impatient. Fuck. 

"Fastest route," Pietro breathed, hot on Jean-Paul's cheek now, "from one point to another?"

Jean-Paul blinked, trying to retain his sanity. Difficult, with Pietro's lips getting closer to his ear, his entire body, warm and hard and greedy, against him. "A straight line."

"Point A– Jean-Paul bitching me out. Point B– Jean-Paul being quiet. The long way," Pietro brought one hand back up to the other boy's face now, traced his jaw line on one side, as his lips pushed against the pointed ear on the other side, "would be to stand here and argue with you until you're happy again. The straight line would be to kiss you," and he rolled his hips forward, just a bit, so that it strategically increased the pressure between the two of them, caused both of them to release heavy breaths, almost at the same moment.

"Don't–," he started to protest, albeit halfheartedly. 

But he was stopped by Pietro's mouth again, and a hot rush of wet and warm and hands all over him, fast and aggressive and oh god so fucking good. 

No. God no, not now. He couldn't get away with this. But it felt... _so good._

Jean-Paul shifted now, so fast anyone else wouldn't have known what he was doing until it was over. Quicksilver, however, knew. And let him do it. And therefore, ended up with their positions reversed, Pietro's back to the tree, Jean-Paul pressing in on him, now in control.

At least, comparatively.

"Don't start a fucking catfight with me, Pietro," he snarled, trying to start breathing normal again, unable to tear himself too far from the warmth and just the _feeling _of the other boy's body. But he had to do this. He had to prove his point. Had to. "I still have your hair in my hands, remember," and he tightened his grip on the silvery hair a little, making his threat clear.

Pietro smirked at him, the picture of pretty evil. "It's ok, Jean-Paul. I like having my hair pulled."

Unh. Jean-Paul felt his knees go a little weak at that, and a brilliant, dizzying tug at his groin as another rush of blood completed his arousal. Oh Jesus. Oh, that horrible fucking...

Pietro went for his mouth again, like he needed it to breathe. This time sliding his hands into Jean-Paul's back pockets insidiously, pushing against him with an unabashed, maddening need for instant gratification. 

Jean-Paul let it happen, for a moment, a bit drunk on him. To go from staring at the guy every day, from torturing himself over him for months, to suddenly being wrapped up in him, in his arms, against his body, in his mouth, was a rather dizzying transition when it happened so fast. And really, he deserved to enjoy it. The smell of fall and skin and Pietro's clean sweater. Their spit and his tongue and his lips. So soft, so violent. The way he pushed against him, the way he seemed to feel absolutely no embarrassment about going after what he wanted, about feeling good, about the heat and the sex radiating off of him in waves.

But Jean-Paul pulled back, and Pietro was staring at him again, open mouthed and panting and...

Fuck. 

No way. Don't let him do this.

He separated his chest from Pietro's, just a bit, so that he could look him in the eye without having to feel his hot breath on him. And stared him down.

"Feels like you don't mind pulling hair either. That works out," the silver-haired him pushed at him again with his hips, making it perfectly obvious that he felt, and liked the feeling of the hardness now pushing at Jean-Paul's fly. 

Slowly, trying to breathe normally (difficult when it was so hot there, pushed against him like that, feeling Pietro grinding against him, oh fuck, fuck, fuck,) Jean-Paul nodded. "Yeah, that's what that means. And you know what else it means?"

Pietro grinned, slid his hands around to the front of Jean-Paul's pants now, with lightning speed, two warm fingers on each hand hooked under his jeans, into the waistband of his underwear, against his hot skin. "That you want me."

Arrogant fucking prick. God, he loved it. "Yeah, that's right." But now, it was his turn. One handed, he traced a line down Pietro's hard, flat stomach, over his sweater, then pushed up inside, flattened his palm against the flushed, smooth skin underneath. Ah goddamn. He wanted to taste that. He remembered it perfectly, sucking on Pietro's finger like that. The salt of him. _Sacre mere._ "I like men, Pietro. And I like you." Everything was quiet now, and he kept his voice low, mostly just so he could keep a hold on it. Pietro's fingers against his skin and his own hand on Pietro's stomach were not doing much to alleviate his sudden blood flow diversion issue. But he slowly, deliberately, traced his fingers over the other boy's navel, through the thin line of soft, pale hair that trailed downward from it, slid them down over his fly, and undid the first two buttons there, one handed. Never taking his eyes off Pietro's.

Ah, now he had him.

Pietro swallowed hard, and his body jerked, just a little, mouth still slightly open. 

Oh Jesus. Too easy. Oh god, the things he could do to him...

No. Just. Wait.

"So... I'm going to bet...," he continued, sliding his hand, palm turned inward still, down the front of Pietro's jeans, covering his erection completely through the cotton of his shorts, pushing at him just so, down, then up. Just a little.

The reaction was suitably brilliant, as Pietro suddenly leaned forward and buried his face in Jean-Paul's neck, groaning just a little. Like he'd never felt something that hurt so bad, felt so good, in his entire life. A little sound. But it said a hell of a lot.

Jean-Paul smiled, and leaned his head away from his friend, opening his neck further to the quick kisses Pietro was covering him with. Impossibly quick. He slid his other hand up the other boy's stomach, and around to his side, just enjoying the feeling of him, exposing a pale stretch of his stomach to the fall chill.

Pietro really didn't seem to mind. Still felt hot. Goddamn, he was on fire.

"... that this," he lifted up, then pressed in on Pietro again, in his jeans, rocking his body just enough that it was horribly gratifying, "means that you like me too, don't you?"

"Mmmmhmmm," was the answer, from his neck.

Felt good. Really fucking good, the way Pietro was kissing him. Those fast, but extraordinarily deep, open mouth kisses all over his neck. Teeth scraping at him, waking up nerves he'd forgotten he had a long time ago, waking up his entire body. Hot blood rushing, all to the same place.

He didn't move too much. Just enough to make Pietro crazy. Ah fuck, what a rush, feeling him like this. The shape of his cock through his shorts, the heat it gave off, the way it pushed against his hand when he made even the slightest move...

Right. The lesson. Jesus, this was getting harder and harder.

"So... that makes you a fucking fairy, doesn't it?" He purposefully used the exact words the jocks had thrown at him today in the hallway. _Fucking fairy._

Pietro stopped kissing him, and stood up a little straighter, arms around Jean-Paul's shoulders, leaning on him heavily. But his hips moved slightly, pushing himself against Jean-Paul's hand with that beguiling impatience, that ridiculously fucking hot _need _in him. "So fucking what?" he muttered, into the darker boy's ear.

Jean-Paul slid his hand out of Pietro's pants, silently, and started to re-button them. Where he got the willpower to do such a thing, he wasn't even certain. Because all he wanted to do was _taste _him. So bad. 

Fuck, so bad that it hurt. Actually, physically, hurt.

A wordless, yet again, strangely articulate sound escaped Pietro now. Something between extreme disappointment, and maddening urgency. 

Right into Jean-Paul's ear.

Before he could stop himself, he let out a harsh breath, at the sound of it. Jesus, Pietro was beautiful.

But he leaned hard against him now, having replaced every article of clothing just as he found it, pushing him against the tree, and then leaned back again. He held Pietro's shoulders away from him with both hands, and looked him in the eye. He felt his own erection jump again, demanding, as he watched those dark blue eyes for just a moment, heavy lidded, glazed from being drunk on him. Just as Jean-Paul knew his own must look.

He took a deep breath, and prepared himself. Because this was really starting to suck.

"Seems to me, _cher _Pietro, that last time you thought something would make you look like a fucking fairy, you ran away from it."

"Oh... you have to be fucking kidding me, Jean-Paul...," there was something desperate in his friend's dark eyes now, like he'd say anything, do anything...

Ah. He could have so much fun with this one.

But he shook his head. Now that he'd started, gotten away from that mouth, from that body, just a little, he remembered all too well why he had to do this. "No. Doesn't work like this. I don't want a fucking boyfriend, not you, not anyone. That's not what this is about. But if you think you can act like a shit, fucking desert me, then get what you want anyhow, you are in for some serious disappointment. You _do _realize that you just left me standing there a few hours ago with two people who hated me because I prefer kissing men to women, and now you're standing here making out with me, right? I mean, you _do _see the irony here? Your brain goes at light speed, so please tell me–,"

"Igetit," Pietro rolled his eyes now, and his shoulders slumped.

"And by the way, you _are _a fucking fairy," he threw in, for good measure. No time like the present, after all. "In case you were wondering, let me clear up the mystery for you. This," he pointed downward now, between them, "it means you're gay."

"Maybe I just want _you_."

Ah goddamn that sounded good, coming out of his mouth like that. But he continued, on a roll. "Yeah, and maybe my name is Mary, but either way, you're fooling yourself. Don't think I haven't noticed. I mean, of all the people–,"

Somehow, Pietro managed to slump in on himself even further. "Alright, alright, I want to fuck you, I get it! Jesus, feel better now that I said it?"

Actually, yes he did. In fact, he would've been positively joyful to hear it, if he wasn't still so irritated about the earlier events of the day. "I'll feel better when you grow a fucking backbone some day."

"Look, I _told _you, I was confused."

"I know. I remember confused," he admitted. "But it doesn't mean I have to let you treat me like shit. So suck it up. I'm not saying you need to go and announce to the world, _hey, I'm queer_, ok? I'm just saying that it's really not too much to ask that you stand next to me when shit like that happens. You know, a little help? And I don't mean that in a damsel in distress way, so don't even start smirking."

Too late. Pietro had already started.

He continued anyhow, "Just be a goddamn friend."

"Then I get to make out with you?"

"Pietro...," Jean-Paul shook his head, stepping back further now, painfully, but knowing he had to, to drive the point home, "I could make you cry if I wanted to. In fact, I think I just might."

Pietro raised an eyebrow, and the smirk turned into a full-on million dollar grin.

"But grow the fuck up. And make sure you're willing to accept it, if someone _finds you out_. I'm not about to head into the closet. Not for you, not for anyone. And I'm not about to listen to you deny it, if someone asks."

Eyes looking a little clearer, despite the still obvious bulge at his jeans, Pietro nodded, thoughtfully.

"Those are my terms. Can't handle it, that's fine. We carry on lighting things on fire and causing trouble, like before. But no more of this... whatever the hell this was. Because it'll make me hate you. So think it through before you attack me again."

"Fuck you, you liked it."

"You think? Again, with the Captain Obvious."

"Look, come home with me."

Oh god. He wanted nothing, absolutely nothing more than to agree to that instantly. To fucking run the whole way there. That skin. That mouth. Jesus. 

His voice caught in his throat, but he forced the words out, "Thought it through so fast, have you?"

"Like I can fucking think right now."

Jean-Paul considered this. Looked Pietro over once. Twice.

"I can make it up to you, if you come home with me," Pietro was grinning, with that odd combination of innocence and evil that only he could manage.

At that, Jean-Paul smiled. Fuck if he knew if Pietro could be trusted on this. But really, there was only one way to find out. "Yeah... alright."

He'd made his point, after all. And hell, he was only human. 

  


to be continued in the next chapter

  
  
  
  
  
  


WARNING: DO NOT CLICK ON THE NEXT CHAPTER IF YOU DON'T WANT SMUT

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


AN: I'm not kidding. Don ask if y'don want t'know, as Gambit once said. Cause it's getting hot up in here.

First off, let me respond to the general "That's so not canon" feeling from the last chapter. Yes. I realize that both of the Summers boys are as straight as they come. I've watched Bobby suffer thanks to Alex over and over. I know. 

Which is exactly why I want him to be gay. To clear the way for Drake. ;)

No, seriously. Evo!Alex has very little to do with 616!Alex thus far, in the show itself. Please, don't take it as a lack of knowledge on my part. I _do _read comics. The difference is what makes it _fun _for me. I know that y'all have expressed the same feeling-- it's weird, but it works. But I just want to make it clear that yes, I realize Havok is far from gay. I chose him because I felt I had the most flexibility working with him. And I like him. He's cute, funny, and super cool in Evo. And honestly... he's kinda lame atm in Uncanny. Soap. Opera. Queen. So I figured I'd throw him a bone. 

And anyhow, I was really mean to him in my last 616 fic, and had him and JP fighting a lot. So I wanted to have them make nice, for once.

Second, this chapter was divided into two so that those of you who aren't interested in the smuttier aspects of JP/Pietro could avoid it entirely. Yeah, you'll miss some character development if you don't read it, but I'm sure you'll recover. So feel free to skip it, if you don't like the idea of m/m action. 

Should you prefer m/f action, just hang on. The next Evo-fic will have it in spades. In the mean time, love your speedsters. Cause the next Evo-fic won't happen till I get the oncoming 616 wave out of my system ;)

That said:

_Caliente_: I too adore Sam, and am itching to tell about the ideas I have for him... looks like I just need to write faster! As for present-day comics, for X-Books I read Uncanny and Xtreme religiously. I read a lot of other Marvel books, but those are the X related ones. And I have been, on and off, for about ten years I guess. I choose my X-Books based on who is on the team. My favorites are Gambit, Nightcrawler, and Northstar, in that order, followed by Iceman and Angel. So those are the books I buy at the moment. I'm mainly a Spider-Man fan, to be honest, but I've made it my business to keep track of the X world as best I can! I definitely don't know everything, not even close, but I pick my battles! And yeah, Rogue absorbed JP in an AF/XM crossover ages ago, and it's assumed that she absorbed his "secrets" as well. Though it was pretty obvious, even before he "came out," if you ask me. Which is why I did things the way I did in Relativity, actually. Sort of the Evo version of it, I hoped!

_Akuma no Tsubasa_: Evo!Alex's laid back persona is precisely what made him a prime candidate. That and I was amused by the fact that Scott is unlikely friends with JP, in my little Evoverse. That's really cute, however, that you have faith in my writing to make it all better. You're far too kind, to say such a thing! And yes... Berzerker in 616 can be forgotten as far as I'm concerned (though I don't mind the Morlock connection!) 

_Fata Morgana: _Saving the Raymonde thing. Might want it later. Depends on how far I go with this Evo thing. Yeah, Austen is using him as their token PC mutant atm. But he could be so much more, if they'd let him. The point I wanted to make is that he's not ashamed, but he's not defined by the fact that he's gay. It shouldn't be ignored, but it's not everything about him. As to why it sometimes doesn't show the chapters, it usually takes a few hours to show up on my info page that I've posted more. God knows why. FF.n hates me. Thanks for the review!

_Risty: _The fucking with Scott's mind could be awfully cool with Gay!Alex. Wouldn't that be fun? And Ray... he's my type. Love the punk-ass hair and attitude. If he got himself a tattoo or three... mmmm. I think it might've been Shaman Dani's Circle of Death thing that I saw them paired in... but I'm not entirely certain... And I'm glad you felt that I got Alex right, on the reluctance/embarassment issue. Means a lot to me!

All that said, on to the smut... should you choose to accept it.


	11. Sex and Samosas

WARNING: This story is DIRTY. Do you hear me? Dirty! If you can't handle slash, or sex, or smut, or any number of s-words, you do NOT want to read this, I promise. Take your virginal eyes and skip to the next chapter, please, because this is NOTHING but smut. And, of course, Indian food. God, I love Indian food.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Sex and Samosas

_Wherein Jean-Paul and Pietro... well... hell, look at the title. They're clearly craving Samosas. _

_Telltale Quote: Dude, how come I can't do the vibrating thing?– Pietro Maximoff_

  


Pietro really hadn't thought it through. His ban on thinking about how, exactly, he felt about Jean-Paul had forbidden it. 

So he'd done exactly what he'd _felt _like doing, without really considering _why_.

Other than, of course, the fact that he wanted Jean-Paul Beaubier more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life. And for the last month, fuck, probably longer, every time he'd gotten himself off, he'd ended up doing it while fantasizing about the absolutely fucking gorgeous Canadian X-Man. 

Ok, so he'd broken his ban on JP thoughts then. But hell, like he had control over his brain when _that _was going on. 

Apparently, it had been the right decision– to go with his instinct instead of his brain, that is– because now, Jean-Paul was kissing him. Better than that, the moment they'd entered the room, JP had slammed him against the wall, _hard_, without even saying a fucking word, and started kissing and biting and scratching at him instantly. Like a predatory, powerful, fucking gorgeous tiger. In fast-forward. Quicksilver fast. 

_Really _kissing. Not screwing around because they were high. Not fucking with his mind, not giving him shit. No, JP had his tongue in Pietro's mouth, nearly down his fucking throat, and Jesus Christ it tasted good. Musky and male and like the cigarette he'd probably been smoking before Pietro had found him outside the Institute, just where he'd known he would. Heaven. And Pietro's back was flat against the wall, and his hands were in JP's pockets and ah, his ass was hard under those jeans, and goddamn, speaking of hard...

Fuck it. He had no idea what he was "supposed" to do, "supposed" to feel. Right or wrong or normal or strange, it wasn't even a thought in his head. He just wanted it. He fucking wanted it _now_. He pushed his hips against his friend's, sucking at Jean-Paul's full bottom lip, hard. Dying to get closer, to feel more of him, to get him out of those bloody irritating clothes... skin. He just wanted Jean-Paul's skin all over him. White and hot and goddamn he felt good.

He slid his hands up the other boy's back, inside his shirt now, because he had to feel it. So warm, already, even though they'd only been inside a few seconds, probably. He could feel Jean-Paul, hard in his jeans, and pushed against him again to tighten the already impossibly tight space between their hips, made JP moan just a little into his mouth. Pietro wondered if he was always so quiet, or if he ever got loud. He wasn't sure which would be hotter, but he suspected that it wouldn't matter. Any noise out of that captivating mouth would only make him want it more, make him harder, make him push against him like this again and again until he finally fucking did something about it because oh god he wanted it now.

Jean-Paul suddenly slowed down, and pulled back, just his chest. He never let up that pressure between them, right where Pietro could feel his sex pushing at him (_Ah fuck Jean-Paul's cock is right there, fuck need to feel it against me, want to feel it, need to push harder._) He bit at Pietro's lip, not quite gently, but not enough to draw blood, anyhow, and let out a heavy breath as Pietro pushed his hips upward against him. JP slid warm hands under his sweater, still moving at a slightly accelerated speed, but slower than their frenzied kissing before, and pushed it out of his way. Pietro felt his friend's flattened palms, felt the roughness of his thumbs pulling at the thin, soft hair on his belly, then the small patch at his chest, snagging at his nipples. Made something electric shoot through him, something that woke him up, woke up every nerve ending in his body at once, made him see spots for just a second. Jean-Paul stopped biting, stood straight, and looked him in the eye.

Blue. Guh... so blue. Looking at him like that. Like he'd steal Pietro's soul right through his eyes if he didn't comply with his every demand, and instantly. Fuck, he loved that look.

Pietro sped up again, and was out of his shirt before the other boy blinked, and pulling at Jean-Paul's. Short work was made of it, and suddenly they were pressed together completely, front to front. 

Ah. Fuck. Skin.

Strange feeling, as he licked at Jean-Paul's teeth, his tongue, wrapped his arms around him, ran his hands down the hard, pronounced muscle of his back, then up again, hands moving faster than mouths. Strange feeling of flatness that fit into his own. Hot skin, rough hair at his chest, dark and thicker than his own, catching at it. Something so masculine. Seemed so much more... real. Made him want to rut against him like some kind of desperate animal. Panic in his stomach, of the best kind. Made him desperate all over, in fact. So solid, so hard and warm and very _male_. Now. Want it _now._

Jean-Paul was kissing his neck now, open-mouthed, licking him, biting at him, at that not-quite-speedster but not-quite-human pace, fast and wet. His hands were all over Pietro, and they were moving _fast. _Because when JP wanted to be fast, he was damn fast. And god, every time he sunk his teeth in like that, Pietro was sure he was going to come right there and then, totally unceremoniously, in his jeans. Sent shockwaves through him, when he felt that almost-pain. 

JP hadn't said a word, not a fucking word, but Pietro understood anyhow. 

(_So hot so hard need to get my hands on him need to feel him want it want it want him _now.)

He couldn't stop to think about this. He would think it was wrong. He would think he was pushing Pietro. Even though the opposite was clearly true.

Pietro was pushing him– right over the goddamn edge. So. Hot.

He wanted to eat him alive. Hand him pinned down on the bed and was sucking at his hot skin, all over his chest, holding himself over Pietro so that they barely touched. Jeans still on. He wanted them off. As much as he was enjoying the feeling of his cock pushing against stiff jeans, of the blood coursing through it, he knew damn well it'd feel even better against Pietro's skin. The silver-haired boy was positively burning up. But he made him wait, because he knew that was just what Pietro couldn't handle. Waiting. He'd slowed down now, to almost "normal" speeds, and was presently sliding down Pietro, tonguing his friend's skin hungrily as he squirmed underneath him. Dying for him.

God, that was hot, knowing that Pietro was dying for him. Further down still, until he was kissing his flat, taut stomach, covering him with his mouth and flicking his tongue over the salty skin until Pietro convulsed under him. Unh... the taste of him. He lowered himself, finally, unable to resist. Pushed his erection into Pietro's long thigh, and Pietro instantly moved against it. Made him release a harsh breath, at the flash of _oh fuck _that shot through him. In retribution, he slid his tongue into his friend's navel, raised his eyes to watch his face as he convulsed again.

"Ah, fuck, Jean-Paul...,"

Christ. He couldn't help it. He moaned into Pietro's belly, when he heard his name like that. Voice low, lazy, just barely recognizable as Pietro's. He sucked hard, just below the navel, at the pale skin above his waistline. Knew it would leave a mark. Wanted to. Tasted wonderful. Sweat and skin. Just like he'd wanted it to. He slid upward a little, dragging himself across Pietro, slid one hand up to the other boy's chest as he sucked hard on another spot, just above the sharp ridge of Pietro's hip bone rising out of his jeans, and dug his nails into him. Not too hard... just a little... and he pulled down, scratching four long, pink trails on that perfect, smooth skin, all the way down to his waist.

Pietro's back arched, suitably, and he let out a beautiful string of expletives that made Jean-Paul want to thrust hard, down into the sheets. Jesus, the mouth on him.

Oh god, that wicked fucking mouth.

  


Fuck, fuck, fuck. Pietro didn't care what the fuck Jean-Paul did to him. He would've taken anything, _anything_, if it meant this could go on just a little longer. 

Naked. Absolutely fucking naked. Jean-Paul was wrapped around him, kissing him. So fucking aggressive. Fingers in his hair, ungentle. Fist tightening around the hair just above his neck, pulling. Sent a charge through him, made him jerk against Jean-Paul, into his stomach. His entirely perfect, washboard stomach. The whole front of him, shameless and hot and hard, never giving an inch. All that heat. JP's cock next to his, pushing into him.

Oh fuck, if this kept up, he wouldn't have to do anything at all. All that skin, all that gorgeous, hot skin against him. Something wet on Jean-Paul's stomach, from one of them, both of them, didn't matter. It was dangerous. It was brilliant. It was such a fucking rush. He didn't mean to any more, he didn't even have control, but he kept pushing against JP harder. There was a spot, just below the head of Pietro's insistent erection, that was like pushing the _fuck yeah _button every time it rubbed against the body next to him. Impossible to resist pushing it. He wasn't even trying to, it just _happened_. 

He felt like he was on fire, and he felt so _good_. 

Jean-Paul was pushing back now, pressing his body against Pietro's hard, clutching at him with his free arm, pulling him tight against him, breathing something into his ear as he rained kisses on him. Not silent anymore, but still quiet. Words Pietro couldn't understand, something in French, but it didn't fucking matter what it meant. All it meant to him was that he was about to come all over his best friend's stomach (_ah fuck just thinking about it holy fuck how can it feel like that from just thinking about it don't do it yet hang on feel more feel that want him_) and it felt so amazing like this, with Jean-Paul's teeth digging into his neck, with those nails in his back, that hand in his hair. Hurt so good. Wanted to feel. Wanted it now.

Jean-Paul pulled back a little, slid one hand between them, keeping the other in Pietro's hair. Felt cold, wanted to be against him, until he felt _that_. JP's hand around him, lightly. Fitfully, he grabbed at his friend's arms, dug his fingernails into him, saying something, maybe it was _ah yeah_. Pietro really couldn't be sure. But yeah, this was what he wanted. He thrust up, involuntarily, into Jean-Paul's hand, felt it tighten, just enough. 

Something... oh fuck. Something fucking _vibrating _against that spot. Light, barely there, but so fucking fast. That molecular vibration that Jean-Paul had and Pietro simply did not._ Pushing his buttons_. 

Pietro felt himself starting to shake, from the inside out, and honestly assumed that however the fuck JP managed that, he was also managing to melt his brain. He buried his face in the other boy's neck, kissing him fast, hard, mumbling something about _ohholyfuckohmygodfuckmeyeahJean-Paulfuckyeahyeahyes_

But again, he couldn't really be sure what he was saying. Particularly since his brain appeared to be totally liquified.

JP's other hand, the one that wasn't occupied alternately stroking him hard and fast, and vibrating against the spot to end all spots without breaking his rhythm, somehow, clutched at his hair. Jerking at it, pulling it, just painfully enough. Jean-Paul muttering in his ear again, breath hot and wet, like he was encouraging Pietro. Asking him for it. Not begging, not JP, no never, but definitely encouraging.

Fuck. So. Much. Feeling.

No air. No time. (_Here it comes oh fuck I can't stop it ah oh Jesus Christ holy fuck Jean-Paul_.) Pietro squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a hard breath, held it. And felt his world fucking explode in Jean-Paul's hand. Pure, intense, hot whiteness, starting in Jean-Paul's hand and spilling through Pietro's entire body like a flash flood. Taking anything in its way out with it, wiping him out entirely. Skin. Hot. Sweat. Salt. Him. Hand. Bite. Kiss. Scratch. Feeling. Pull. White. End. 

He was still shaking when Jean-Paul let go of him and shoved his shoulder down roughly, so that he was flat on his back again, and slid downward...

And started licking him.

Another convulsion shot through him, as Jean-Paul's tongue slid over the length of him, and licked him clean. He took him into his mouth, and Pietro's back arched, entirely without his permission, as a smaller explosion hit behind his eyes. When he was released from JP's extremely warm, extremely wet mouth again, he felt his friend licking at his stomach, just below his navel. And realized that he'd made quite a fucking mess, going off in JP's hand like that.

And Jean-Paul was working hard to clean it up. And his substantial erection was hot and starting to leak as he did it, pressed against Pietro's leg. 

And goddamn, he looked like he was enjoying it. His dark head at Pietro's stomach, moving up and down as he worked. He slid that fabulous tongue upwards, not missing any of the sticky wetness on his way, into Pietro's navel again. Pietro gave an involuntary shiver of pleasure, feeling his tongue dip into him like that, and shifted his leg against Jean-Paul purposefully. He felt, more than heard, the moan JP allowed to escape from him, lips pressed against his navel, making it vibrate with the sound. 

He was spent, yeah, for the moment. But fuck, that made him wish he wasn't.

"Christ, Jean-Paul, you're... goddamn you're...," (_Sexy? No, understatement of the century, don't be an idiot. Amazing? No, that's not even half of it, not even worth mentioning. Hot as fuck? Making me wonder how I can possibly keep from getting hard again in roughly thirty seconds?_) Holy god, he'd never seen anything, _anything_ like that in his entire fucking life, let alone _felt _it, actually thought he'd see someone _doing _it to him.

But JP continued, with the occasional murmur of appreciation, until there was nothing left on Pietro's stomach but his spit. Dragging his rough, hot tongue over his skin, licking every last bit of the sex from him. Slowly, but hungrily. As if it were a matter of the utmost importance. Like he was down on his knees, praying to Pietro, almost. Like it was some kind of sacred act of worship, of adoration, appreciation. Like he _needed _it. 

Fuck, that looked like fun.

  


The thing about Pietro was that he was so smooth. So goddamn hard and lean and long limbed. He was, to put it bluntly, fucking beautiful. He was pretty with his clothes _on,_ but without? Ah fuck, heaven. And Jean-Paul didn't even care if he finished what he'd started, because all he needed was that. Jesus, the _taste _of him. Slightly familiar, warm and salty and so undeniably male, but always different. Fuck it was good. He'd had a feeling it would be.

And damn, the way he moved. The way he just didn't care, had absolutely no shame. Took what he wanted, didn't even have to say anything to make it clear. The most expressive body language. A shiver, a push, a bite, a kiss. The smallest thing he did spoke volumes. So positively responsive, so unashamed. Pietro wanted what he wanted and didn't give a fuck what Jean-Paul thought of it. And Jean-Paul ate it up, that attitude.

As it turned out, however, Pietro was clearly planning to finish what he had started. Jean-Paul was sitting against the wall, in fact, on the bed, and Pietro was curled up, bent over on his knees between JP's legs. Biting at his inner thigh, lightly. 

Wicked fucking mouth. Jean-Paul figured that his own was a bit wicked as well, because he honestly did have a bit of an oral fixation. He needed to keep his mouth busy, wanted to taste everything, was seriously affected by the sensuality of it. Needed to have his mouth involved in everything. But Pietro...

Wasn't this fucking amazing? Pietro's hot tongue running all over every sensitive spot he could find, searching. Jean-Paul clutched at the sheets under him, pulling them into fists, letting them go. Something traveled straight up, from the base of his spine, when he felt that exploring tongue hit something new. Hot and warm and so fucking seductive, talking him into somehow getting harder, growing until he felt certain he would die if his brain lost any more blood to his lower body. 

He wanted desperately to grab Pietro by the hair, but didn't want to interfere. But fuck, he loved the way the guy loved to be pushed, pulled, sucked, scratched, bitten. Loved that Pietro wanted to be manhandled like that, wanted him to own him like that. Loved the way he swore when he felt something he liked and...

Ah _sacre mere_. That tongue, running up his shaft. Pausing under the head of it, as it pulsed once, then twice. Growing impossibly, desperate for release. Jean-Paul pulled at the sheets some more, trying to avoid squirming too much. _Chrisse_, he wanted to fuck that gorgeous, wicked mouth right then. Hard. God, he knew it was hot in there. Hot and wet and fucking– 

"Need instruction, if things get rough, JP." 

Yeah right, like it would take any fucking skill at this point. He muttered something in return, to the voice speaking below. And gasped aloud as he felt Pietro's mouth suddenly close around him, warm and wet and _mon dieu _he was sucking hard. Pietro's tongue pushed up, instantly, making the space close in tight and hot, and he slid down further than Jean-Paul had ever expected, lips nearly meeting up with the hand anchoring him at Jean-Paul's stomach. Involuntarily, he felt his hips try to buck at the shock of pure joy that rendered him insensible for a moment. Ah, but he wanted to. Needed to–

Didn't have to. Pietro was moving, now that he'd tested things out, and quickly built his rhythm with his head, using his tongue in a rather clever way, pushing it up and against him so that it dragged over him perpetually, rubbing him into some kind of fuzzy ecstatic state in no time. Electric current in something like heavy waves washing in and out of him. Crashing through his body and pulling out with that irresistible undertow.

Fuck. Pietro. Sucking his cock.

_Thinking _about it made him dizzy. Looking down and watching it nearly made him black out, as he felt still more blood rush into his ecstatic member. He told him, in joual, just what he thought of it. Too hard to think in English, right then. Not usually, just right then. 

Told him how fucking beautiful he was. Told him he was going to fuck him proper some day. Told him a hundred other such appropriately dirty things that Pietro couldn't understand. Didn't matter. He didn't understand the words, maybe. But he was definitely getting the point of them.

He fought to hold still, as waves of something began to build in him. Didn't want to mess it up, the thing Pietro was creating. But oh _marde_, that was so fucking tight, in there, and those lips wrapped around him and that tongue pushing at him as his head rocked, and fuck, he wanted to grab him by the hair and push up hard every time he felt the back of Pietro's throat closing in on him like that, when he slid down that far, and sweet Jesus just let it last a little longer, _Chrisse_, just a little longer...

"Ah, fuck... you sure...?" He managed to breathe, by way of warning, not even sure if there was time for Pietro to get off of him, at this rate.

Pietro's free hand squeezed his thigh impatiently. A _yes I'm fucking sure, asshole_ gesture if ever Jean-Paul had seen one.

Which was a good thing, because almost simultaneously he came like a fucking shotgun, long and so hard he lost his power of sight for a few minutes. Silent, not breathing. Stomach tight, holding his body totally still, fighting it. He always held his breath until it was over. The fight made it more intense. And ah, yeah, it took a minute to be over, really.

But Pietro didn't move. Just stayed where he was, bent over like that, licking at him. Swallowed dutifully, and kept it up, until Jean-Paul felt his blood returning to where it ought to be, finally, and let his head hit the wall behind him with a dull thud and a long release of his breath.

When Pietro sat up, he was grinning, lips beautifully swollen and pink. He drug his hand across his mouth quickly, and raised one silver eyebrow.

God. That mouth. How was he supposed to catch his breath, looking at that mouth?

Jean-Paul leaned forward, covered those puffy lips with his own, and pulled Pietro into him, literally arranging him so that the other boy was sitting in his lap. Pietro complied with an uncanny amount of flexibility (of which Jean-Paul made a mental note, as such a thing could come in handy, next time around,) and ended up with his legs wrapped around Jean-Paul's midsection, for all intents and purposes.

And his raging fucking hard-on pushing into Jean-Paul's stomach, once again.

Oh Jesus. Apparently, Pietro Maximoff liked giving head. A lot. Wasn't that a lovely surprise?

He'd like getting it a lot more, Jean-Paul was willing to bet. 

But first, he just kissed him. Forced Pietro to take it slow, to wait. _Slow down, Quicksilver, stop and enjoy._ Jean-Paul, for his part, was certainly enjoying, still reeling just a bit. But the lack of urgency in him, now that he felt so blessedly released, allowed him to feel everything slowly, carefully, for a moment. The weight of Pietro in his lap. The feeling of his smooth skin under his fingers. The taste of both of them, mingling in their mouths as they kissed, violently. Hungrily. Pietro's fingers in his hair, raking through it. Jean-Paul was tempted, for a moment, to take a fucking bite out of him, he was so perfect. So goddamn delicious. 

But he didn't. He just kept his face upturned, and kissed him. Let Pietro pin him to the bed, to the wall like this. Let him taste himself on him. Let him grind into him just a little more. Let him think he had control. 

Let him beg, maybe, if he got lucky.

Because fuck, that was hot, the way Pietro's entire body asked for it. Jean-Paul was pretty sure that alone would be enough to make him want to do this all night.

As if he would need convincing. 

  


He'd known it was going to be... different. Pietro had done some shit in his time. He didn't go out on five dates a night sometimes and never end up with someone willing to get him off, one way or another. He'd been having sex since he was fifteen years old, back home in Transia, after all. 

But holy fuck. Hot.

First off, no teenage girl had ever, _ever _done something like that whole licking him clean act. Which, by the way, he fucking loved. It was like being worshiped. And it felt amazing, as he was laying there, trying to catch his breath. But Jean-Paul's tongue _always _felt amazing, of course. He'd known that for a long time, really. 

And that vibrating thing... what the _fuck_? Best. Thing. Ever.

But it didn't even end there. Jean-Paul also sucked cock like a fucking pro. Tight and hot and taking him in so far that Pietro could've sworn he was fucking his best friend's throat. And, of course, loving it. And damn, he knew the buttons to push. That thing, with getting his finger wet, and then...

Unh. Never tried that before. Was weird at first, when he realized what JP was about to do with that finger. But once he relaxed... holy fuck, if that hadn't pushed him right over the goddamn edge. Like it woke something else up, having something inside of him, stretching, even just a little like that. And considering that he was getting the blow job of the century at the time, it was really all he could do not to slam down on Jean-Paul and fuck himself silly, to be honest. 

Course, that might've been a little over the top. But he'd been a little preoccupied at the time with the earthquake of an orgasm that had been building through his entire body, so he really couldn't be expected to take the blame for his urges at the time, now could he?

And seriously, who the hell knew how much _fun _it was? Doing it for someone, that is. Getting head was always fun (well, unless it was bad, then it was just boring, and sometimes pretty painful, but that was hardly an issue with JP was it?) But he'd actually enjoyed that, even if it did make his jaw a little sore, afterwards. And if that made him a cocksucker... well shit. He'd take the title. Feeling JP coming in his mouth... now _that _is what is known as a power trip. Someone like Jean-Paul Beaubier, someone so cool, so calm, so constantly in control of himself... getting that excited over him. Fuck yes. _That _was the fucking business, right there. He'd swallow all day if he got to see that expression on JP's face more often. Like he'd just been smacked, and loved it. Those pale blue eyes looking like the thick lashes were too much for them, like they couldn't possibly get more than halfway open, those heavy lips open as he fought for air. Sure, it tasted a little funny, but not bad. Kinda good, really. Just different.

He was pretty sure he'd get used to it.

Jesus, the shit he'd never known before today. He could write a book. 

Jean-Paul was stretched out now, across the bed, eyes closed. Also suitably beaten down. Pietro was pleased to find that there was no cuddling of any sort about to happen. He was definitely not a cuddly kind of guy. And neither, apparently, was his friend. It was a phenomenon he'd never quite understood, the need to curl up with someone after getting off. Personally, Pietro usually just wanted some fucking breathing room. 

"Dude, how come I can't do the vibrating thing?"

Jean-Paul's icy eyes snapped open, and he smirked, face half in the pillow since he was on his stomach. "It's just the way my powers work. A molecular thing. Did you ever try?"

"Course I fucking did! Well, not that exactly, but I can't vibrate," he pouted. Now that sucked. That'd make jacking off about a hundred times easier. Fast worked too, for him, but that... "That's a goddamn art form, JP. I can do some shit, but not _that_."

Lazily, his friend laughed at him, and rolled over onto his back, tangling his long legs up in the sheets and leaving his pale chest exposed to the air, which was growing cooler as the night stretched on. It had been dark for some time now, but it got dark early, this close to winter. "What can I say? I've picked up some tricks."

"Do I want to know?" Pietro smirked right back at him. He didn't want to know, actually, because he didn't give a fuck. Not unless it was to write whoever the hell had taught him how to suck dick like that a thank you note. 

"Being famous has its perks," his elf-eared friend raised both eyebrows at him. "Drugs and sex, mainly, in the off-season. What there is of it."

"And you live at the Institute now why?" Pietro was at a loss.

"Gets old," Jean-Paul's shoulders moved, just a bit, in a sort of lying down shrug. 

Shoulders. Great shoulders. Looked good. Felt good. Tasted good. 

Fuck. JP was hot even when he couldn't possibly go at it again. 

Well, at least not for a few minutes.

"How do drugs and sex get old? Enlighten me," He flipped over onto his back as well, and put his arms behind his head, under his pillow, staring up at the ceiling. 

"Rather have a sister," was the only answer he got.

This made him look back over at his friend, thoughtfully.

Jean-Paul just kept looking up, face blank. Like he hadn't even spoken.

The guy never said much, about his past. Not that Pietro ever did either. All that bouncing around and separation and stealing and searching and...

Sometimes, Pietro had to wonder if he wasn't really fucking scarred from all that shit, and just too lame to realize it.

But looking at JP, he figured he probably wasn't the only one with issues like that.

And he _knew _he wasn't the only one who didn't feel like talking about them.

He also knew that his stomach suddenly seemed to be trying to eat its own lining. "Fuck me, I'm starving."

Jean-Paul's smooth face finally took on some expression again, one of supreme discomfort, as he rubbed at his stomach. His cut up stomach. That Pietro had just– "Yeah," the darker boy cut into his thoughts. "You know what we need? Samosas. That Indian restaurant in town has the fucking best samosas. We need them."

Pietro's mouth started to water at the very thought. "Man, we need bags of them."

"Mountains."

"Better yet. Let's roll."

After about ten gigantic samosas, Jean-Paul didn't feel faint anymore. 

After about twenty, he was able to slow down eating enough to hold a decent conversation. 

Jesus, he was done in though. Fucking _tired_. "Christ man, it's still early and I'm ready to drop."

"Yeah, well who knew that spending all evening in bed could make you more tired?" Pietro grinned at him over the chutney, then looked back at his own food and dug in with his hands. 

"If anyone could make it more tiring, it'd be you." Pietro managed to make _everything _tiring. It was a key aspect of his personality, in fact, as far as Jean-Paul was concerned.

Pietro cackled a bit, around a mouthful of samosa. "Yeah, that's what happens when you live fast. Can't keep up?"

Jean-Paul grinned, "I'm doing alright." 

"Yeah, looks that way, man."

_Fuck_, he thought, shoving another half a samosa into his mouth, savoring the fried appetizer (god this shit was amazing....) _Never would've thought when I woke up this morning that today would end up so..._

"This is kinda weird, innit?" Pietro interrupted his thoughts, suddenly, taking a quick break from his rapidly disappearing pile of appetizer to gulp down half his cup of chai in one swig. 

Jean-Paul looked up, and caught his eyes. And Pietro just looked back, that familiar, childishly curious expression on his face. No discomfort. No guilt. No shame. Just interest in what Jean-Paul thought about the situation.

So he decided to be difficult. "What? The Indian food? The Bollywood soundtrack? Or what came before it?"

"Well, the music is a little fucked up too," Pietro admitted, referring to the cheesy Hindi music spilling from the speakers around the dining room, "but mostly what came before." He took another quick bite, but a smaller one, so that it was easier to talk around. "I mean, we're friends, right?"

"I should hope so."

"So that usually doesn't mean you get to do... whatever the hell that was."

"No. It's not likely. In fact, the practice is generally frowned upon."

"But we did. And now I'm just like... sitting here across from you eating fucking Indian food. Just like any other day of my life. And I don't feel... different. I mean, you're still just... JP."

Jean-Paul cocked his head now, and blinked at the silver-haired boy. And realized, "No... didn't change much, did it?"

"Well, I mean, I feel tired. And I'm grinning like an idiot, cause who the fuck doesn't after they get off. And I think I like you _way _more as of about an hour ago. But you know what I mean?"

That made him laugh, and he took a drink of his own spicy chai, nodding from behind it. Honestly, he was pleased with Pietro for bringing it up. While he wasn't much for "talking things out," it was pretty mature of the guy, out of character mature, even, to be so cool. About something like this, anyhow. Considering how long they'd gone pretending that they didn't want to do exactly what they'd just done... repeatedly. "Yeah, I know. What, you thought everything would change? Did you think we'd stop talking? Or start taking moonlit strolls?"

Pietro rolled his eyes, "Did I say I like you more? I meant less. Way less."

"Ah, you'll change your tune as soon as you recover your strength," he teased, licking the chutney from his fingers, finally feeling as if he'd eaten about all he could... for another few hours, anyhow. But maybe he'd get some of that sweet stuff, that gulab jamun...

"No doubt about it, JP. So what, you're not mad at me anymore?"

That actually made Jean-Paul laugh. Not even he was bitchy enough to be angry after _that_. "Nothing says _I'm sorry_ like a blow job, Pietro."

This made his fiend snicker evilly. "Great. I'll keep that in mind."

"Let's hope you don't need it," he was rolling his eyes now. "No, I forgive you, this time. But don't fucking do it again, huh?"

"Whatever. Just checking."

"I'm not about to start sleeping with a pansy, so you'd better not." It was a lie, of course. He'd sleep with Pietro even if he jumped up on the seat right there in the restaurant and started screaming that there was a mouse under his chair and he needed Jean-Paul to save him from it. He honestly didn't give a fuck. He was well hooked.

But Pietro didn't need to know that. Not now, and probably not ever.

"If you're trying to motivate me to be more noble, Jean-Paul...," Pietro started, but trailed off, and raised one silver eyebrow thoughtfully. He was quiet for a minute, as if he were considering the threat seriously. 

And finished, "I think you may have found the one thing that could convince me." 


	12. Theology

Theology

_Wherein Jeanne-Marie ponders the mysteries of the universe_

_I think that kind of unconditional love is something we should appreciate– Kurt Wagner_

  
  


Monet.

No. Too... wall-papery. Looked as if it belonged on the wall in someone's bathroom. Pretty, but with nothing to say.

O'Keefe.

Perhaps not. Even if all the talk of feminine undertones was true, they still seemed a little too... hotel decoration.

Bacon.

If she were in the market for paintings to give her nightmares, perhaps.

Picasso.

The Blue Period was nice, if depressing. But she didn't quite have a grip on that whole cubist thing just yet. Maybe she'd save him for later...

Jeanne-Marie sighed and looked over at Wanda, next to her in their first period art class. The assignment was to find an artist and do a three-page write up on his or her life and how it affected their work. Rather a broad topic, but they were expected to speak to the teacher about their choices, and narrow it down based on who they chose to work on. Mr. Howlett insisted they should work on someone who "spoke to" them.

But Wanda was staring at Volume One of the two-volume _Encyclopedia of Western Art_ that Jeanne-Marie held the other half of, looking as if none of the artists were speaking to her anymore than they were to JM. "This sucks," she shook her head and shoved the book away in disgust. "I hate this dead white guy crap. Can't we do some Indian art... or African... or something?"

Mr. Howlett shot her a dangerous look from where he was sitting at his desk reading something ominously thick and dull looking. "Miss Maximoff, your project next semester will be to choose a culture to work on. Should you like to choose South Asia, Russia, or Timbuktu at that time, you'll get no argument from me. Until then, suck it up."

Jeanne-Marie smiled helplessly at her friend, and Wanda rolled her eyes.

"I didn't take this class to write papers, I took it to draw...," the red-clad girl mumbled, so that only Jeanne-Marie could hear.

"What are you looking at?" Jeanne-Marie offered quietly, hoping for a preemptive strike– it was always easier to keep Wanda calm than to calm her down after the fact. And after only a few weeks of school, the girl already had a reputation for irritating her teachers into tossing her out into the hall, and into the principal's office. A few more and she'd be in detention for the rest of her life.

Or make something very bad happen to one of the teachers. Which was probably more likely, considering Wanda's dubious control over her formidable powers. 

"Renaissance and Baroque crap," she pointed a finger to the book. "It's nice to look at and all, don't get me wrong. I just don't want to... _study _it."

Jeanne-Marie leaned over, and her eyes raked across the page quickly. "Who is the artist on this page?"

"Caravaggio," Wanda shrugged. "Good stuff, but..."

Jeanne-Marie, however, didn't hear the rest of what she said.

There. On the page. A dark picture, the background almost totally in shadow. White figures bent impossibly, yet gracefully. A woman at the top of a tight, triangular set of figures, arms raised as if she were wailing to God. Two more women, beside her, sinking into the darkness of the background, silent mourners, their grief that much more powerful for their obvious attempt to hold it back. And three men. Two holding the third, one with arms around his torso, and the other holding his legs, lowering him into a tomb.

The man they held was horizontal, though angled away from the viewpoint, arms and head drooping low, skin marble white, astoundingly real. As if she could reach through the page and touch him, and she would feel the cold of him. His eyes were closed. His visible and foot were pierced. And he had a short gash in his side.

Christ, of course, after they took him off the cross. Being lowered into his tomb. 

Her breath caught in her throat and her heart stopped completely as a rush of something familiar swept through her. She couldn't help but keep staring, as the picture before her began to blur. 

Something about it. The women crying, perhaps. One so loud, the others so quiet, as if they wanted to be strong, but couldn't manage. The faces of the men as they lowered the body into the ground. One shadowed, intent on Christ's face, as if for one last look. One looking directly through the page. Into her.

She was intruding. Or she was being allowed to see. She wasn't sure which.

And Christ... his body was so limp, so visibly cold, like marble. So unbelievably sad.

Something warm, on her cheek. Wet. _Dieu_, she'd never before felt so very sad for no reason. Just a picture.

She drug a hand quickly across her face, sniffed, and blinked so that she could read the sidebar.

_Caravaggio_, Entombment, _C. 1603_

"This one."

Wanda was staring at her when she looked up, finally, one eyebrow raised. "So you _are _still with us. You... ok?"

Jeanne-Marie nodded, suddenly realizing that she'd nearly started crying in the middle of class. Her heart was in her throat, even now, and her eyes felt hot and wet. She blinked again, hard, and smiled at her friend. "_Oui_. I'm ok. I want to do this painter."

The other girl's brow furrowed. "Alright... kinda scared me there, JM..."

"Can I use this book?"

Wanda chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment, considering something. "Of course. But um... what was that about?"

Jeanne-Marie considered the other girl for a moment. Thought about her question.

And found that the only answer she had was, "I don't really know."

  


"Dude, you have to say something cooler than _I have a new sweater_."

Jeanne-Marie shook her head at the two boys on the floor in front of her, books and papers spread out everywhere until the three of them seemed to be lost in a sea of homework. 

Alex laughed at his roommate, "Like what? Like _How are you_? We already said that. Like eight times."

Ray looked to Jeanne-Marie pleadingly, scratching the back of his head, "JM...?"

She shook her head again and laughed, "I'm not writing it for you. If Miss Callahan found out I was even in the room with you while you wrote your skit for class she'd hang me up by my toes."

"You don't have to _write _it for us," Alex smiled at her sweetly, leaning back and letting his arms prop him up, hands behind him on the floor, "Just, you know, give us some ideas."

"Looking at me like that with those big brown eyes will get you almost everywhere, Alex Summers," she smiled. "But it _won't _get me to do your French homework."

He looked back to his roommate and shrugged helplessly. "I tried! Your turn again."

Ray simply fell backwards, sighing in obvious defeat, onto a pile of papers behind him. He lay there, as if utterly beaten down, arms out to his sides, legs still crossed Indian-style. "I hate school!"

At that moment the door burst open and Bobby Drake leapt into the room, wielding a rifle made of ice, as he had been all week, which he aimed straight at Alex. "Lady!" He announced, striking a dramatic pose, feet wide apart, a huge grin on his face. "I'm gonna have to ask you to leave the store!"

Alex threw his hands up in mock horror, "Who the hell are you?!"

Bobby grinned at him and replied, "Name's Ash!" He then fired off a fake shot, and mimed cocking the rifle again while Alex grabbed at his chest and fell over. "Housewares!"

Jeanne-Marie shook her head, "How many times have you watched that movie this week?"

"Every night but tonight," Ray sat up now, hi-fiving his quickly recovered roommate over their pile of homework. "Bruce Campbell is the _man_."

Jeanne-Marie did not agree. She'd been subjected to their latest obsession, Army of Darkness, three times in the past two weeks, and was still unimpressed. She just shook her head and laughed as Bobby came to her side and dug through the pile of books until he found the Algebra II text. "Ready to do this?"

She nodded at him. "Yes. But we'll stay in here, I promised Alex and Ray I'd keep them company while they pretend to speak French."

Ray winked at her and Alex made a face, but after a few moments, things were back to normal. Sam, Roberto, and Amara, and Kitty wandered in at intervals, until the entire floor of Ray and Alex's room was covered in notebooks, pencils, pens, and mutants trying to finish their homework. Alex and Ray kept interrupting with horrible invented sentences that they wanted Jeanne-Marie to translate into French, but other than that, the work moved quickly. 

And anyhow, she honestly didn't know how to translate _eat my shorts _or _what's your fucking problem today_ into French. She certainly could've given them the Québécois equivalent, but they'd probably be dangerous with such information, so she ultimately thought better of it.

She and Bobby were just finishing their last problem when she noticed Alex singing along with the words of the song playing in the background, coming softly from his computer speakers. Heavy, fuzzy bass under scratching guitars, and an echoing voice that she could barely hear over the surfer-boy's soft singing. "Jesus when you comin' back, Jesus never comin' back, Jesus won't take me back, Jesus never comin' home... Jesus seems to steal my soul, he'll never let me go, Jesus gonna make me pay, never shoulda' run away... I wanna go home..."

She looked up at him, quickly, and watched him nodding his head to the music, long hair falling over his eyes as he carefully colored the space in between the lines of his notebook paper. 

And she thought of the picture, from earlier in the day, the Caravaggio. 

It had been on her mind all day, on and off. At first, she thought it was just because the painting was so beautiful, in a sad way. She'd told Mr. Howlett about her choice in painters, and he'd said it was a good one, then spouted a list of terms like _chiaroscuro _and _tenebrism _that she needed to look up. And he asked her why she chose Caravaggio.

She'd answered him, but not very well. All she could think to say was, "I understand him."

That was enough for Mr. Howlett, apparently, who had let her go after that. 

But the sdaness behind the picture had haunted her all day. And the song wasn't helping. It hit something in her.

"Jesus when you goin' to come back, Jesus when you goin' to come back... Jesus I dare ya to come back..."

"What are we listening to?"

Alex looked up at her, golden hair falling over his eyes. He furrowed his brow in irritation, blew upwards, and the hair went flying up and out of his way, landing neatly to the side. "Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. Want me to change it?"

She shook her head. "No. Just asking."

"This album is the shit, man. Put on the new one next," Ray was nodding, across from Alex, whose own paper was covered with doodles now.

She raised an eyebrow at them, "What are you two doing?"

Two guilty sets of eyes looked first at each other, then at her, in unison. 

"Um...," Alex attempted, "Looking for inspiration?"

"Your skit is written?"

They looked back at each other now. "Dude... we just got busted," Alex told his roommate.

"Big time," Ray agreed.

And they went back to drawing and singing along to the music immediately.

  
  


Something had been missing, she had to admit.

Jeanne-Marie was raised in a Catholic institution. And since she'd come to Xavier's... she hadn't once thought about God, or Christ, or prayer...

Not a single thought.

No one here seemed to think of it, really. In fact, she had no idea what her fellow students and X-Men felt about the entire Issue of God.

She had to admit, she felt guilty, now that it had been brought to her attention again. She hadn't really thought about it, this morning, why that painting would affect her so deeply. Of course, it was because she knew the story. The story of the Son of God taking on the sins of the world, being crucified for the sake of anyone who would love him and accept his sacrifice, a symbol of the Creator's love for his creations, for humanity.

She could remember how it felt, sitting at mass. She'd always liked it. No matter what kind of trouble she was in, no matter what the Soeurs said about her being a demon, no matter how many meals had been withheld or how much she'd been beaten... for that hour of the day, she was alone.

Not alone, really. She was with Him.

She'd never been all that certain, honestly, what that meant– Him. She'd just always thought of it like that. She'd sat and stood and kneeled with the motions, said the prayers and kept quiet otherwise. But she'd also thought. Watched the stained glass windows, the beautiful windows she loved so much. The center one was always her favorite. The one with the archangel. 

Which archangel, she couldn't really recall. Gabriel... Michael maybe? She didn't know. But he seemed so strong, so heroic, yet so gentle. His eyes were kind.

But part of her was terrified of him, of his sword. She knew that if she was truly a demon, as they told her she must be, this angel would not look on her kindly. If and when they came face to face, he would judge her. Powerful enough to see right into her, into the wickedness of the demon inside of her–

"Ok JM?"

She looked over at Bobby, who was walking next to her as they headed downstairs for dinner. He looked like he wanted to ask her something else, or at least, looked like he was asking something with those puppy dog eyes of his. Looked concerned. 

She tried to return to reality, pulling herself out of her thoughts, and nodded at him, "I'm ok. Bobby... can I ask you something? It's a little silly, so if you don't want to answer, it's ok."

"Sure, ask anything. I have no secrets. Well, not yet," he winked at her, grinning.

She gave a small laugh, and took him by the arm, "Do you believe... in God?"

Bobby raised an eyebrow at her, and slowed his pace. "Hell... I dunno. Guess I never thought about it that much."

"You never thought about why we're here and how we got here?"

He shook his head, "Not really. I mean, I'm here, so I figure that's about all that matters, right? I have enough trouble with my homework, I don't think the question of God is something I can really handle."

"So... you don't believe in Him?"

"Not exactly... I guess I just don't know. My parents made me go to church for a few years, when my mom got on a religious kick once. But it was just kinda fun for me, since I was real young. I passed notes with my friends in the pews, ate a lot of junk food in Sunday School. But it never really made much difference to me, I guess."

"Then you... do believe?"

He laughed, as they stepped into the dining room, "I don't know, is all. I never thought about it. But if I do, I'll let you know."

She let go of his arm and smiled at him, "That sounds fair. Thank you, Bobby."

"Thanks for nothing, you mean. A lot of help I am." 

  
  


Jeanne-Marie looked up when the knock came at her door. She knew before she even told him to come in that it was her brother, she could feel him well enough, but she'd been so interested in the page she had found on the internet that she hadn't noticed him coming. "Come in, Jean-Paul."

He opened the door and slid inside, leaving it slightly open as he came to her. ::Good evening, sister,:: he greeted her, kissing the top of her head before he sat down and made himself comfortable on the bed, just next to her chair. ::What are you playing at?::

Sometimes, he did this. Just came to her room, when she was having a rare anti-social evening. She knew he was checking on her, in a way. But she also knew that he liked having the chance to talk with her, away from the others. And she loved it. She'd do it more often to him, in fact, if he could ever be found. Jean-Paul was ridiculously hard to keep track of. ::I am researching something for school. About a painter.::

He leaned forward, resting his chin on her shoulder so that he could see the screen of her laptop more clearly. ::This painter?::

::Yes, Caravaggio. We were allowed to choose who we wanted to write our papers on, and I chose him.::

::It's dreadful, Jeanne-Marie.::

She laughed at him, and turned to look him in the eye, forcing him to sit up straight. ::Why would you think that? It's beautiful!::

He grinned at her, shaking his head, ::It's damn depressing, is what it is. And ugly. The people are so... awful. Christ looks like some common criminal, and St. John needs a bath.::

She raised her eyebrow at her brother, ::But Christ was treated as a common criminal, and he was born a common man. And St. John probably _did _need a bath.::

He chuckled at that, ::I suppose. Forgive me if I like my art to be a little prettier.::

::It's beautiful,:: She insisted, looking back to the screen, letting her eyes pass over the composition again.

::Beautiful, perhaps. But not pretty.::

She considered, then nodded. Yes, there was a difference between something that was truly, deeply beautiful, and something that simply looked nice, as the other word implied. ::You're right. It's too real to be pretty. You prefer Hollywood painting?::

::I do. Everyone wearing white smiles and Versace clothes.::

She looked back over at him, and he was grinning. ::That makes you sound shallow, brother.::

He shrugged, his usual flippant expression plastered all over his wicked face. ::Do you think I am?::

::I know you're not.::

::Then I will be honest with you, and say I like pretty art, if you don't mind.::

That made her laugh. ::You would be honest with me even if I _did _think you were shallow.:: She knew very well that her twin couldn't give a damn what anyone thought of him.

::True.::

She shook her head at him a moment longer, as he reached in front of her for the mouse pad and clicked over to the next image, with his usual blatant disregard for whether or not she (or, usually, anyone else) still needed whatever it was he was messing up, and then asked, ::Jean-Paul, do you believe in God?::

He stopped reading what was on the screen, and stared at her blankly for a moment. Then gave a short laugh, sounding almost bewildered, ::Why would you ask such a thing?::

She turned her chair around to face him now, and leaned back, so that she could watch his face, concentrate on his reaction. She had no idea why she felt compelled to get the opinion of others on the subject... she only knew that she felt something was missing today. And all signs seemed to be pointing her in this direction, both within and without. ::I was just thinking, is all.::

::Sounds dangerous.::

She rolled her eyes and gave him a quick smack on the knee. ::Answer the question.::

He sighed, ice blue eyes rolling upward in a long-suffering sort of expression, then focused on her once again. ::Yes, I suppose I do.::

::Why?::

Again, the bewildered half-laugh escaped him. ::My god, Jeanne-Marie, I don't know. I just think there's something more than humanity, how's that? Fuck the Church–,::

She gasped, involuntarily. ::Jean-Paul!::

But he continued as if she hadn't spoken at all, ::–but I guess God is an alright concept. Easier than trying to sort it out for ourselves, anyhow, so sure, I believe in God. The Christian ideal, which I know is what you're talking about, isn't the only one there is. I believe in something, though. Not some guy with a beard, pushing little buttons to tell us all where to go next, but perhaps as some sort of cosmic energy that makes things work, or laid down the foundations of reality for the universe, or... I don't know. Something like that, yes.:: 

::But God and his Church–,:: It wasn't that she wasn't listening to what he'd said after his distressing _fuck the Church _announcement. It was just that her heart had stopped when he'd said it, and was only just starting back up again for some reason. And surely he hadn't meant such a thing...

::Sister, the Church, if anything, pollutes Christianity. Protestants aside, as they're an entire dissertation on their own, the Catholic Church picks and chooses what it will _allow _its followers to know about the Bible, about Jesus Christ, about the history of the Church itself. It's an institution that was built on the idea that people weren't smart enough to understand God for themselves, so they needed to be told in a way which they could understand– which, at the time, was about what a five-year-old could understand, apparently. No one but monks could read, so everyone else had to be _told_. Times are different now, and the Church is not.:: 

::It has changed...,:: she tried to defend it, although she wasn't really sure why.

::It's foundationally unsuited to our time,:: he shrugged, sounding aggravated, but not as if he were about to fly into a rage over the subject. ::It's spoon feeding. Not to mention that a lot of those changes consist of adding in saints and miracles and promises after the fact, all to dumb their precious "word of God" down, make it more "accessible." And look at how they choose to follow _some _of their old laws, and discard others. The Church hates me for being homosexual, it condemns me to burn in hell, whatever that is. But think of the thousand other "laws" laid down in the Bible for living life that it completely ignores, as an institution. Love your neighbor, and how many wars has the Church stood behind? Or poverty! Have you _seen _pictures of the Vatican?::

She felt her ears getting a little pink as he carried on, but she couldn't think of a convincing argument against anything he was saying, at the moment. He recited his little speech as if he'd practiced it in his head over and over, and she was totally unprepared for it. ::Those are gifts offered to God by the devoted. The Pope does not buy himself those things.::

::No, but he certainly doesn't mind keeping them, does he? Mother Teresa, now _there _is a Catholic I can respect. But the Church itself is a contradiction in too many ways, too caught up in the _stuff _of it. You said it yourself– Jesus, the guy they're all crazy for, was a common man. Accepting and forgiving.::

::The Church offers the chance for absolution, Jean-Paul,:: she furrowed her brow at him, not quite understanding his sudden rush of hostility. She'd only asked a simple question, after all.

He raised one eyebrow at her, slowly. And she felt him pulling back from her, psychically, just a little, since she was so attuned to him at the moment. ::And do you think I am in need of absolution, my sister?::

::Of course not,:: she said quickly, not wanting their conversation to deteriorate into a fight. Particularly not over _that. _::I only mean that if it's true that no one can come to the Father but through Christ, then the Church allows free access to that path for all, no matter how they've sinned in the past.::

Jean-Paul only shrugged, relaxing back into their former state of closeness,. ::I still say fuck them. On a grand scale, more people have died because of organized religion than because of any disease or natural disaster in the history of the world. And on a personal level, I was condemned from birth, solely for being what I am. And if there is a God, as I feel there must be since I have no better explanation for how things came to be, then that God made me this way. But no loving, caring deity would do such a thing to one of his own, make them inherently flawed, force them to spend their lives fighting against it. And therefore, I can't help but think that it isn't a flaw at all. The Church is the thing that is flawed, not me, and not God.:: 

She considered this point carefully, a point she had not considered previously when thinking of her twin's... lifestyle choices. Perhaps he was right, though. Perhaps he really didn't have a _choice _at all.

::Some have condemned you, in the Church, for being what you are. Surely you can understand,:: he suggested, his voice growing softer as he made reference to her trials at Madame's.

::Yes,:: she agreed, saying the words aloud as they came to her mind, slowly. ::But blaming the acts of a few on the larger whole is faulty logic. It would be like... blaming every mutant in the world for something Magneto did.::

Jean-Paul's eyebrows shot up, and she felt a wave of something like appreciation coming from him. Very strong, and very pleased. ::An excellent point. But you cannot deny that the larger whole, in this case the Church, does condemn me for being who I am.::

::Yes, brother. And... perhaps they are wrong.::

He arched an eyebrow, and stood up to go. He was calm, but she caught a definite hint of... dissatisfaction with her answer coming from him. ::Perhaps. And if not, I'm not concerned. I'm positive that I'll see them all in hell, and I can apologize there for being so very wrong.:: 

  
  


The Issue of God, as of the next morning, had turned into an all out crusade for Jeanne-Marie. She planned to ask everyone she had a chance to talk to today– everyone she was close enough to, anyhow– what they thought about the existence of God. Talking to Bobby had made her realize that not everyone cared one way or the other, and talking to Jean-Paul had caused it to dawn on her that her own preconceived notion of the entity she thought of as God, or Him, really, in her head, was only one of many options. She felt certain that He was still there, even though she had not been in His presence in a long time, it seemed. But she wanted to know if anyone else felt the same. Wanted to know if this was mere childish fantasy, or something real, something she could hold onto safely, as she had all those years at Madame's. 

Next, she decided to ask Wanda her opinion, in first period as they took class time to research their respective painters in the library. Wanda was glaring at a book about Roy Liechtenstein and chewing on the inside of her cheek thoughtfully when Jeanne-Marie finally got up the nerve to interrupt her.

Not that she was afraid of Wanda. She knew that most people were, but she'd always gotten along fine with the other girl. But it was a strange question to ask, she realized, and Wanda was hardly the type she thought would appreciate such a thing. "Wanda... can I ask you a question?"

Dark blue eyes snapped up to catch Jeanne-Marie's own and Wanda raised one eyebrow. "Sure. Anything to get me out of this book.

Jeanne-Marie smiled ruefully, covering her own thick text with her arms as she leaned over the table toward the other girl. "What do you think of God?"

"As in, _The _God? The One God of the Jews, Christians, and Muslims?"

"Yes, that one."

"The same thing I think of all the other gods. The ones invented by the ancient Greeks, the Egyptians, the Celts, the Romans, the Hindus, the Shinto, and every other religion that has deities of any kind," she shrugged. "Gods are a nice explanation for things we don't understand. And humans, feeling the need to understand everything, because it makes us feel more in control of our destinies and our selves, create the gods to make ourselves feel better." 

Jeanne-Marie cocked her head at Wanda, a bit surprised at the matter-of-fact tone with which the girl had disavowed everything she'd ever been taught. "What makes you feel that way?"

Wanda seemed to consider her for a moment, looking her over with those dark, calculating eyes, the only part of her that reminded Jeanne-Marie of her twin Pietro, and finally started speaking again. "What makes you feel it's _not _that way? What proof is there of a god who actually exists, who actually made things or controls things or gives a flying fuck?"

"You just... feel it."

The other girl shrugged again, "Never felt it, I guess. So what about all the other gods?"

"They're... not the same."

"I read this quote once, somewhere online I think," Wanda leaned forward now, crossing her arms on the table in front of her and leaning on her elbows, blue eyes still latched onto Jeanne-Marie's. "It was something like, _I contend that we are both atheists. I just believe in one fewer god than you do. When you understand why you dismiss all the other possible gods, you will understand why I dismiss yours._"

Slowly, Jeanne-Marie nodded.

"Get it?"

"I get it," she said, still nodding. "It seems... lonely, though. And how can you explain the universe?"

"I don't have to explain it. I'm not some egotistical scientist who needs to think she has all the answers. I can accept that humanity isn't as advanced as it wants to be, and science can't answer all the questions of the universe yet. The Big Bang and a thousand other theories and ideas that we'll never know the truth about, at least not in my lifetime. Evolution and a thousand other theories that are so obviously fact, and some people still refuse to accept them. I don't need to know," Wanda shook her head, face now angling down, so that she was looking up at Jeanne-Marie through heavy black eyelashes. "All I need is the search. Ego created god, the ego of humanity, the ego that hates to think it's just an accident. And I don't need that ego either." 

Jeanne-Marie was appalled, really.

But she couldn't fault her friend for being honest. If she didn't feel it, it would be an insult to the religion and its followers to pretend that she did. But still... "Wanda, it's just that... if it's all an accident... it's such a huge coincidence."

"Sure. And if one small thing had been different, so would we. We'd all be fuzzy like Kurt, or we'd be plants, or we'd be some other form of life that is entirely different, not carbon-based, no respiratory system, something like that. And then we'd be sitting here going, 'Gee, isn't it uncanny how we just ended up being fuzzy and living off nutrients we absorb through our feet?' instead of thinking of how special we are for having hair on our heads or breathing oxygen. Or, we might not exist at all. One little difference.

"But big fucking deal. It's not a coincidence, really, JM. It can't be a coincidence unless it's in agreement of some sort with a... a past occurrence. There is nothing coincidental about us. All it is, is the way things happened. It wasn't meant to be, anymore than Mars was _meant _to be red, or I was _meant _to be at Bayville High on a Friday while suffering from the worst PMS in the history of the world. That's just the way things came together." 

She smiled at Wanda's turn of phrase, and even gave a small laugh. Perhaps the other girl had a point or two. But something deep inside of Jeanne-Marie rebelled at the idea. Maybe it was her ego. But it felt like something... deeper. Something at her very core. Like her soul. "You weren't raised religiously?"

At that, Wanda's eyes dropped to her book and started to chew the inside of her cheek again. She was silent for a long time, smooth white brow slowly becoming more and more furrowed. After a minute, at least, she finally opened her mouth and whispered, "You know, JM... I'm not really sure. I don't think so, though."

For a moment, Jeanne-Marie was afraid she'd brought up a sore subject. She knew that neither of the Maximoffs had heard from their father in months, and that before their last parting, he had promised to come for them soon. And she had no idea who their mother was, or if they even knew her. "I'm sorry if I–,"

"No," Wanda shook her head, as if trying to clear it, blinking hard and looking back up at her again. "It's ok. Just sometimes when I think about being a kid... it fucks with my head a little. It's nothing. Anyhow, no, no religious upbringing for me and Pietro."

For some reason, that didn't surprise Jeanne-Marie. But she was relieved that she hadn't upset Wanda, and not just because an angry Scarlet Witch was a bad thing. Jeanne-Marie truly liked Wanda, and had come to consider her a friend in the past months. She was different from any of her other friends, rougher, a bit of a tomboy. Not to mention in possession of a temper that could flatten both Jeanne-Marie's and her own hot-headed twin's combined.

But with Wanda Maximoff, it seemed that those were things that only made her more fun– definitely not strikes against her.

"Alright," she smiled across the table at her friend, glad that even though she hadn't got the answer she'd expected, she'd gotten an honest, intelligent one. That was really the purpose of asking, after all. "Thank you for humoring me."

"What makes you ask something like that anyhow? I take it you _do _believe in god?"

Jeanne-Marie nodded, "I do. But I'm not certain how, or why. And I was looking at that painting the other day, and it meant so much to me...," but she trailed off, knowing it would sound silly to someone like Wanda Maximoff. Someone who was probably never lonely, never weak. Wanda may have been unstable, but she wasn't like Jeanne-Marie. She didn't have that scared thing inside of her, didn't need people the way JM did. 

At least, that was what Jeanne-Marie figured.

So she finished quickly, "I just wondered what everyone else thought, is all."

Wanda nodded, and shrugged, "I can respect that, don't get me wrong. It's just not my thing."

Jeanne-Marie smiled at her, swallowing the rest of what she wanted to say, _needed _to say, to work out the confusion in her head. In her heart.

  
  


Roberto was Catholic, so he claimed. But he had refused her request to get up early with her and go to mass, so she could familiarize herself with the local church. He said he'd never been there himself, and that she was crazy to want to get up for eight o'clock mass on one of their few days to sleep past that hour.

So, Jeanne-Marie decided to wake up and go for a walk instead, to consider the Issue of God further. And possibly, to pray. She hadn't talked to God in a long time.

But before she got too far, she heard the front door of the house closing, and turned to see a familiar, blue-haired boy ambling toward her, hands stuffed deep in his pockets and a huge smile on his sweet face.

"_Guten Morgen_, Jeanne-Marie," Kurt said, once he caught up to her, still smiling happily. "What brings you out so early?"

She smiled, and started walking beside him, up the drive, "Just walking. What about you?"

"Mass," he shrugged, his image inducer unable to hide the natural grace with which he executed every single movement. 

She'd decided a long time ago that was the best thing about Kurt– the way he moved. The way he smiled, too. But more importantly, at the moment, was his declaration that he was heading to the very place she'd been hoping to go this morning... but was too afraid to go to alone. "To the little church, just near the grocery?"

He nodded, "_Ja_, St. Francis. You've been there?"

She shook her head, and felt her ears flush pink. She'd never known that he got up for mass... she hadn't even know that he was Catholic, in fact. Was it a private thing for him? He never talked about it. Would he mind if she invited herself along?

But he was looking at her now, one eyebrow raised in that playful manner that became him so well. "Would you like to come with me? Not that I think you _need _to, but since you're up..."

She sighed, relieved, and smiled again. "I wanted to ask you, but I didn't know if you'd mind."

He laughed aloud and threw an arm over her shoulders, "Of course not. It'll be nice to have some company, for once!"

"You go every Sunday?"

"Always," he nodded. "Well, when we're not off fighting some insane super-villain bent on destroying humanity or mutants or... well you know. X-Men stuff."

She laughed with him, and slid an arm around his waist as they walked. It was a chilly morning, and they both had their fall coats on, but it wasn't uncomfortable. And it smelled nice, like wood smoke and fallen leaves. Something about the whole scene, the two of them walking, the feeling of autumn, suddenly lifted a huge weight off of her heart, and she realized that she'd been brooding for the past day or two, over this whole Issue of God. But now, here... it really didn't feel like there was much of an Issue at all. It was, in fact, perfectly clear. "So X-Men come first?"

"I can only hope that God, in His eternal forgiveness, will let me off the hook for saving my friends' butts on occasion," he grinned at her.

"I didn't know you were religious, Kurt."

"Ach, I don't know that I'm _religious_. I just... I believe in God, and I like going to mass."

"Isn't that what being religious is?" She laughed at him.

"I guess so, _ja_," he nodded, still grinning.

"So, what do you think then? About God?"

He seemed to consider this for a moment. And then he said, "I think we're lucky He hasn't deserted us, after all we've done to screw up all the good things we've been given. And I think that kind of unconditional love is something we should appreciate."

"So, you believe He created us?"

"_Naturlich_."

"And that He still watches over us?"

"If he didn't, _Liebiling, _I'm sure I wouldn't have made it this far. A circus freak with blue fur, yellow eyes, fangs and a tail? Not to mention...,"

She looked over at him sharply and saw him watching his shoes with great intensity, as they stepped out onto the main road, in the direction of the nearby church. And he was wearing a totally unfamiliar expression on his sweet, if simulated, face– she couldn't decide if it was guilt, fear, or anger. "What is it, Kurt?"

"You know... about Mystique, and all of that?"

She nodded. She'd heard the story from Jean-Paul once, who had been told by Rogue. She had never met Mystique, personally, but she'd heard enough stories of her exploits to know that she was fairly awful. "Yes, I have heard some of the story."

"Well, then you know what a miracle it is that I've made it this far. I mean, being fished out of a river is pretty miraculous."

"Oh Kurt," she squeezed him tight with the arm she had around his waist, and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. Funny how she could _feel_ the slight fuzz there, even though she couldn't _see _it. "You _do _have someone watching over you, though. Look at you now, how well you've grown up. How could God _not _have a hand in it?"

A reluctant grin was returning to her friend's face now, even if his voice was still a little softer than she was used to. Normally he was loud and bouncing and... cheerful. This was an interesting new side to him. Sad, but somehow strong. Hopeful, even after everything he'd been through, after the way he'd grown up being so very different. How he managed, she couldn't imagine. "That's what my parents say, and I don't know how else to explain it. And how else could you find Jean-Paul, in such a huge world, after so many years being apart. How would we all be brought together like this, how would we have fought something as powerful as Apocalypse? Humans... we don't have that power in us. Something helps us, along the way. And all of those things... they make me certain that God is there when we need Him most."

Jeanne-Marie smiled, and felt like her heart was soaring. Finally, someone understood. Someone had just articulated that thing inside of her, that thing that _knew_. She had known what she felt, but to hear another person say it... _that _was beautiful. 

  
  


From the Diary of Jeanne-Marie Beaubier, October 1

_Dear Diary,_

_ The stained glass windows in St. Francis are just as beautiful as the ones from Madame's, if not more so. The walls on both sides of the sanctuary are lined with them, individual gothic arched windows, pointed delicately at the top, glowing like fire from the deep colored glass. Each of them has a different saint, with a small dedication below, each completely separate from the others, yet still one of the set. I watched them through the entire service, almost, as the sun climbed higher outside, as they lit up and made colorful patterns on the floor, and eventually across Kurt and me. The familiar sounds of the mass, the smell of incense, the angel in the window– this time a beautiful woman with a harp– all made me feel at home. And I felt full of something. I remembered what it was I had been missing. _

_ The best part was that this time, I felt no fear. I knew that when it was over, I would still be with Kurt, and we would go have breakfast at the small diner nearby, and then we would come home to the Institute. Nothing to fear, nothing to hide from, as there was for so many years. Mass was my respite from the fear, but it was always pushing in on me, at the edge of my thoughts. This time, it wasn't. And it _still _feels like a respite, as it turns out. From my past. From Kurt's past. From every day problems and pain. From fighting with my brother, from pleasing my teachers, from every little thing._

_ Perhaps God only intervenes in big things, as some people say. Maybe He truly doesn't have time for the small ones. _

_ But I can't believe that, after this morning at St. Francis. We had no big problem. No Sinister, no Apocalypse, no Magneto. And still, we felt alive, felt safe, in that church. _

_ Kurt was right when he told me that this kind of love deserves to be appreciated. It's such a small thing, getting up and going to mass. But that's what it is, an act of appreciation. I will be going with him every week. That is, when we aren't out saving our friends' butts, as he puts it._

_ What all the others think of God, it doesn't really matter. Bobby, my sweet friend, who isn't bothered with Him at all, doesn't see the need to even think of Him. Jean-Paul who is bitter toward Him and His Church, yet seems to want to believe. Wanda, whose mind cannot reconcile the mystery of faith with the hard facts of science. Even Kurt, who is as thankful as I, who speaks the words right out of my own soul as I cannot. What matters is that I feel Him. And He has helped me to survive all these troubles, and brought me to this place, a place where I have friends, even family. Luxuries I never understood, but always dreamed of. _

_ I was feeling a little guilty for forgetting Him, as I sat in church. But I looked over, to the angel in the window. She is so much sweeter than the archangel from Madame's. Smiling and gentle, no giant sword, no flame, no judgment. Just her harp, and a smile. And somehow, looking at her, I knew it was ok. I left with a smile on my face, and Kurt's hand in mine. _

_ I know that I am not the most pious girl. I do like boys, I like to have fun, I like to dance. But none of these things are bad, or wrong, as far as the Church is concerned. Music, love, enjoying the gifts we're given, all of these are good things. And from now on, I will make sure to appreciate them. _

_ I have given more thought to what my brother says, however, about the Church judging him for his sexual attitudes. I suppose it's true, and there is a basis for that judgment, in the Bible. As far as I understand, it is not even the idea of homosexuality, in particular, these days, but the idea of sex out of wedlock. In a way, this is unfair, since my brother can never marry someone he loves, in the Church. But in another way... is he right? Was he made this way? And if so, doesn't that mean that he is as he was intended to be? It is not unheard of that the Church has made a bad decision, and while their mandates are inspired, they are also given by humans in the end. _

_ Something about it still does not sit right with me... but I do love my brother. More than life. And I know that I do not have all the answers. I will try harder to understand him, and his choices. Or maybe not his choices... maybe just the way he is. _

_ Anyhow, it bears thinking about. _

_ Right now, however, I must go find Jean-Paul and remind him to write his History paper. He has a habit of forgetting such things, and God knows I don't want to see him kicked out of class for talking back. Particularly when he is at fault. He is so hard-headed some days, I don't know what to do with him. Anyhow, I will write more soon. In the meantime, all I can say is that it feels good to feel safe. It feels good to be home. I think I'm finally starting to understand what that word means. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


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AN: The atheist quote is something Stephen Roberts said, I can't take credit for that!

First off, let me say that I don't mean to offend anyone in writing this chapter-- not atheists, not Christians, not hardcore Catholics. Jeanne-Marie wanted some attention, since Aurora got so much on her last chapter, and I gave in. Talk about switching gears... think I ripped the clutch out on this chapter! And watch me do it again next time...

Sorry this one took me so long to pump out, my life is in a huge state of upheaval atm. But things are calming down, and we've only got a few more stories to go. Then I will start on the requested ones, including the shopping trip, a few dates, and random otherness. Those will go in a different story altogether, since they won't be in chronological order if I put em in here, but I'll be sure and let you know where they go and how, if anyone decides to read those too! However, we've got three or four more before Here Comes Trouble comes to a close, so in the meantime...

  
  


_The Rogue Witch: _I hope that was a good squeak!

_Guidi: _For one, I'm glad that you approve of the Alex issue. Some seemed upset that it didn't stick with canon, but nooot me. I do like Alex, honestly, but it's nice to get ahold of someone in Evo that you can do what you like with. And yes, in AF2 those "eh"s from Judd were about the funniest things ever. Also, Flex and Radius were cute. But beyond that... and yes, boys are disgusting. As far as I know, sex is the main thing on their minds, particularly at that age. I've always lived with boys and... yeah. Ugh. Glad you think it suits them. As for why they have to be comics... guh. It's sad innit? Also happy that the smut was good for you. It was good for me too, baby. Er... yeah. ;) Sorry Mexico wasn't that fun but hell... you get to go to Mexico!

_bucki hulk_: I'm debating over making another smut chapter after the next one... but I dunno, we shall see. In the meantime, I hope the bits and pieces I drop will be enough to satisfy the JP/Pietro cravings. I know how bad they can get!

_Fata Morgana_: Funny you should think Gina is so god awful (not that she isn't) but I based everyone in the high school sequences off of someone I knew in school, all those years ago! The JP/Pietro relationship is not something I want to get romantic-- I honestly can't see either of them, particularly as teenagers, being terribly interested in the, as JP said, "moonlit stroll" aspect of their relationship. Probably more of a "dude, I need to get off... ok let's go light some fires..." sort of thing. The romance of it would probably happen while they weren't paying attention, because I can't imagine either of them knowing romance if it came up and knocked them on the side of the head. As for the empathic projection, being in the Brotherhood house would definitely have him out of range... but yeah, I'm thinking he shuts himself down for his romps with Pietro ;) Let's hope. JM is scarred enough as is... and you're right. Pietro is a twit. Thanks for the reviews, sugah!

_Gir, aka Day_: Girl, if you made it this far, that means you made it through the Sex. I hope you aren't too scarred! I love you!

_Regret: _How long did it take me to think what up? Pietro and JP in bed? About two seconds, if you want the truth, cause I'm sick. ;) As for you requests... Hank, more Jamie, Jubes, Rahne, more Alex, and a sequel I am _definitely _planning on. Tabby, Dani, and JP and Pietro getting married and having an adopted love child really weren't in the plan... but hell, there;s always the franchise idea! Seriously though, the next one _will _be a sequel and will focus on both the Beaubiers and the Maximoffs, seperately and together. I have a month or so before I probably start it, but I definitely have plot bunnies nibbling at my ears at the moment, and am setting things up with this fic, most definitely. 

_Shaman Dani_: I really think it _was _you that I saw with Alex/Ray first. I mentioned that in some AN somewhere, to someone... Jesus I dunno. Anyhow, its a cute pair and I thank you for the inspiration! I'm glad you thought the smut was yum. I admit, I was worried about offending my audience... but I suppose it's worked out ok, thus far. Thanks so much for the reviews. 

_Risty_: I'm glad you approve of the tone used for Pietro, using himself to get himself out of trouble with JP. It was difficult, when dealing with smut, to get just the right kind of reaction for Pietro-- I didn't think he'd be self conscious about it, at first, but he would definitely have to notice things after. How it felt. Of course, it will have changed more than he wants to think, but I tried to carefully measure his reaction. And yay! You love Samosas too!?

_Akuma no Tsubasa_: Magneto's reaction _may _be dealt with in future installments, but not in this fic. In the sequel it is a distinct possibility... if the boys can hold it together for long enough ;) And yes, I'm pretty sure that Bobby (along with Remy, Jono, Rogue, and Jubilee) could easily be bi. He's straight, in this one, because if not my beta reader, the Amazing Sue Penkivech, will lynch me. But come on... it's so obvious. (I'm going to get lynched for saying that...) But yeah, sick of Bobby getting the shaft because of Alex. So I took him out of the game! Mwahaha! As for Pietro swearing while he gets off... he seems the type, doesn't he? And no, I definitely am not about to end this fic with sex. I put it in because it furthers their relationship, and therefore my plot. Character development. Relationship development. I still have lots more to do, you're right. And I hope you enjoy it! Thanks so much for the reviews, you're a darling!

_S-Star_: Glad you loved it, and I probably love you too ;) 

_Peanutbaby_: Yes... yes we are all happy now that JP FINALLY got laid. That poor man. No wonder he's such a bitch. He has never, in the history of Marvel comics, gotten any! And about making Alex gay... yes... that is what happens when I'm left to my own devices! Still waiting for more of the epic! 3

_Caliente_: Well, _sometimes _I update fast... *ahem.* Anyhow, I'm glad that you don't rate this fic with all the other slash stuff. To be honest, I'm not so into most of it myself. I definitely have my favorite scenarios, how I like to see things done, that sort of thing. I'm sorry I made your ears burn, but having gay male friends I'm sure it's nothing new to you. I still remember the first time my best friend talked to me about such things... wooo I was pretending not to be embarassed but oh good god... ;) I know it was graphic... but I was going for intensity (certainly not romance...) I hope it carried off alright. And yes, oh good god Jean, please effing DIE! I'd like to pick up NXM myself, as well as New Mutants, but I just don't have the money at the moment. And Sam... it's coming... next chapter! Thanks for the reviews! You are so sweet, to give such compliments. Much love!


	13. Dirty Bass Part 1

WARNING: This chapter contains, among other things, breaking the law, mass consumption of alcohol, dirty dancing, skimpy clothing, Gucci clothing, sexual innuendo, a random drunken hook-up, bad driving, slashy themes, Wayne's World quotes, pretentious internal monologue, and a sing-along to Korn and Limp Bizkit's evil "All in the Family." If any of these things are going to offend you, please skip this and the following chapter. This sucker is so long, I'm dividing it into two parts!

  
  
  
  
  
  


Dirty Bass

_Wherein the kids have their night out on the town_

_Telltale Quote: Oh my god, that like... can't be legal.– Kitty Pryde_

  
  


From the diary of Jeanne-Marie Beaubier, October 18

_Dear Diary,_

_ Things have been going well, now that school is well settled in— we've survived over a month of it now, and with no mishaps to speak of. I suppose living in a completely English-speaking environment has really improved my language skills, because I have very little trouble in my classes. And if I do have trouble, there is always a friend in class to ask, which makes it easier. But I love school, and I love living here at the Institute even more than I did at first. It's hard, sometimes, when the girls I meet at school want me to spend time with them, go out somewhere late, and I cannot. I know they are having so much fun, but I also know that my duties as an X-Man don't allow for the crazy parties they are all going to, all the time. Most weekends are very free, but other than that, I know I have to be up early. And I don't really like to miss church– I know Kurt went by himself before I came, but I like spending that time with him. He's a different person, on Sunday mornings. Pensive and spiritual. Still always laughing, but always so gentle. I don't like to miss it._

_ I suppose church itself has also been good to me, these past few weeks. It's nice to feel that connection. That forgiveness. But it helps to have a friend there. I don't think doing things on my own is very fun. Jean-Paul seems to enjoy it, but not me. I like to feel like I'm surrounded by... warmth._

_ But this life of school and the Danger Room is getting... boring? I don't know, exactly what the word I want is. I am having fun, but lately I've been wanting something more. I heard Jean-Paul and Pietro last week, talking about going out, in the city. I asked them what they meant, and they asked me if I'd like to go dancing with them some time, and that Wanda and Rogue wanted to come too. I suggested that we take the others with us– but Jean-Paul said it would be too difficult to get them in, since most of them aren't eighteen yet._

_ I begged. And he gave in to me. He always complains that he cannot tell me no, no matter what I ask of him. I'm beginning to believe him, really._

_ He says the fake IDs for Bobby, Berto, Sam, Ray, Amara, Kurt, and Kitty should be ready in a few days. As well as the ones for those of us who are already eighteen– he said that if he was making them all into eighteen-year-olds, no reason those of us who are already eighteen– us, the Maximoffs, Rogue, and Lance– shouldn't be twenty-one. _

_ I didn't ask him where he was getting them. Sometimes, my brother scares me, with the things he knows. I know I've done some.... not so nice things in my days before coming here. But Jean-Paul is so strangely familiar with being... bad. I love him for it, of course, not in spite of it. But it does make me think, sometimes._

_ Speaking of such things, I caught him the other day, coming out of his room with Pietro. Both of them a mess, and... grinning. I do love my brother dearly, but I cannot approve of this. I know that Roberto and I aren't the most innocent, but we are far more innocent than those two, and it's perfectly obvious. They don't even care who knows what they're up to. And believe me, no one wants to know._

_ At least, I don't. It's very uncomfortable, looking your brother in the eye when you see him coming out of his room, hair a mess, with another boy. I suppose I should be thankful that he is careful to not let me... feel anything, but they could at least be more discreet. And to think, he actually complains that I am too much of a flirt. But flirting is harmless. And whatever goes on between the two of them... I know it isn't innocent. True, I helped them to become friends again, and I'm glad he is happy lately. But honestly. I considered his point of view, the idea that maybe he doesn't really have a choice. If I love him, I must love all of him, after all. But no sister wants to actually think of her brother behaving that way, with anyone. I am fairly certain I would feel the same if it was him and Rogue, doing such things. But Pietro... I don't know why. I just don't like to think of it. He just seems so... wicked. _

_ Anyhow he is my brother, and I do adore him. We have not fought in well over a month, so I don't want to bring it up with him. And he's doing me such a favor, getting everyone into the clubs like this. I'm so excited to go out again! This time, I will remember. I have a good feeling. I will be with my friends, and I will remember every moment. _

  
  


Jean-Paul had finished passing out IDsearlier in the day. He felt a bit guilty about the whole thing, but not because they were breaking the law. He hadn't been bothered about the law since he was ten years old. No, he felt guilty because he really did wish they could tell Scott, and have him come along. But Pietro and Jeanne-Marie had brought him to his senses about that quickly, pointing out that their darling Boy Scout would no doubt torpedo the entire mission. Alex offered to run interference with him instead, convincing Scott that they needed a little brotherly bonding, effectively removing him from the house for the entire evening. Luckily, the Professor and Jean were both out of town for the weekend, hanging out with some Worthington fellow for undisclosed reasons, so there were no worries about the damned telepaths catching on, anyhow. 

This whole twenty-one to drink issue was, in his opinion, utterly ridiculous. Who in the hell needed to be twenty-one? Americans. At eighteen, they can choose who is President of their country, but they can't decide if they're capable of handling a G&T. They can go to war and die for their country, but they can't have a fucking beer beforehand. Who invented that rule, anyhow?

Sometimes, he really feared he'd moved to a country of fundamentalists. Not that he had much love for Canada, but living here certainly made him appreciate it. Sure, he still wasn't legal there either. But at least he was _close_.

Still, he'd been meaning to do this for a long time. With any luck, he could hand his keys to one of the kids, and have a little fun. Drake was probably his best bet, of those not sanctioned to drink. Kurt would probably want a beer or two, despite the under age issue, and despite the fact that Iceman was a little nuts, he could drive. And Jean-Paul sure as hell wasn't going to trust his baby to any of those New Mutants. Dodgy kids. Besides, Bobby was intimidated just enough by him that he'd be really fucking careful with the car.

Jean-Paul examined himself closely in the one full-length mirror he had access to in the place, the one in the locker room. The new, dark jeans had just come in from Gucci, and they were slung dangerously low on his hips. Which he liked. Gave him a use for that belt Scott had given him. Too bad he couldn't show him how brilliant it looked, really. He wasn't sure how he felt about the fit, otherwise, as it was a little loose. But a quick turn around proved they fit well enough to show off his assets reasonably.

The shirt, also recently arrived, fit perfectly. Shoulders were always a problem, when ordering without trying on, particularly since his were rather well-developed. But he found this to his liking, luckily. It was a very light grey, almost white, and long sleeved, but lightweight enough that it wouldn't cause him to sweat. The color was nice– complimented the silver streak in his hair, really. Nice, loose fit, but showed off what was underneath when he moved. Top two unbuttoned, bottom tucked in. Looked good with the low jeans, made him look taller somehow. And tucked in would irritate the shit out of Pietro, who had seemingly lost all of his former reluctance about making a display of his affections, and would no doubt be trying to feel him up all night. And irritating Pietro always amused Jean-Paul immensely. 

So long as it didn't mean he'd lose buttons, of course. Not that he'd likely mind, at the time, if Pietro got a little overzealous, but this shirt _was _new for the love of god, and he really didn't feel like convincing someone to sew the extras on tomorrow morning. 

He rolled the sleeves up carefully, just past his wrists. Made sure the small knot of the scarf stretched thin and flat around his neck, black with just a little grey print, wasn't visible under his collar, and took a moment to admire the effect of it at his white throat. Hair was just right, falling with carefully planned randomness over his forehead, showing his ears just the way he liked it. Nice to see it behaving, for once.

A last overview... well not _quite _like the runway model he'd seen wearing almost the same exact outfit, but good enough. And definitely better than the shirt in pink, like that guy had been sporting it. Jean-Paul was brave, but not brave enough for _that_. But yes... yes, this should do nicely.

Nice to know that he would at least look _as _good as Ray, who had come to him in a panic, on Jeanne-Marie's direction, for something to wear. And Ray, he had to admit, looked damn good. He was about the same size, actually, so the black linen herringbone pants had really done wonders on him. Good looking kid, that one.

Shame Alex wouldn't be coming, really. Or perhaps it was a good thing, if Ray was as straight as his roommate claimed he was. Ray's ass in those pants would really only be a horrible tease for the poor surfer boy. And his shoulders plus Jean-Paul's favorite sweater would definitely equal a puddle of Alex. 

Right. Just one more look.

Ok. Looks good.

_Marde_, too long since he'd done this. This was fucking fun, and they hadn't even gotten anywhere yet.

  
  


Bobby stared at the ID JP had handed him earlier as if it would bite him. "You guys are sure about this?"

Amara shrugged, looking really damn cute in her stretchy little green tank top and dark, but strategically faded jeans. Great color on her, green. "Why not? I mean, what's the worst that could happen? They say no, and we go back home."

"This "legal drinking age" crap is so lame. Americans...," Roberto whined, rolling his eyes. "Anyhow we're all dressed nice. They aren't going to argue if you look like you have money."

Bobby, for one, wasn't so sure about that. Not that he didn't want to go, because he did. A lot. But... this was kinda dodgy. Almost anything involving JP was, of course, he'd learned that during their short association. But this was... well, breaking the law.

Not that he'd never done that before, just... "Can't they arrest us or something?"

Sam, shifting uncomfortably in the tight black v-neck he'd borrowed from Bobby, shot him a terrified glance, examining his own flawless, new ID with just as much distrust. "Ah hope not... they cain't... cain they?"

Amara rolled her eyes. "Oh gods, you two, you sound like someone's grandmother. No, they won't. They'll just take the IDs. Anyhow, you two are the Americans here, how is it that Berto and I are the two who know what's going on?"

"Too bad Alex isn't here," Berto flopped down onto his bed, before Bobby could object to Amara's dig at him, "He woulda had fun. Poor guy, stuck with Shades."

Bobby was about to agree with that sentiment, and suggest a moment of silence to commemorate Alex Summers' noble sacrifice for them all... but found himself staring, mouth open, when Jeanne-Marie entered the room.

Everyone was staring, actually. Well, every boy. Slim black pants, heavy boots, and a crimson halter tied with thin strings around her neck, leaving half of her perfectly toned stomach exposed. A thin, shining red and silver chain was wrapped around her waist, the trailing edges of it meeting halfway between her bare navel and the low (Jesus, that was low...) waistband of those tight pants. Her dark hair was free, flowing down her back and over her shoulders in gorgeous, silky waves. So much white skin, and it looked amazing against the dark black and red of her outfit, of her hair... and that chain at her stomach... wow... mesmerizing really. 

"Damn... you look beautiful, JM," Roberto grinned at her, breaking the momentary silence.

Aurora actually blushed, and came to his side, then kissed his cheek. "Everyone's ready? My brother is on his way–,"

Jean-Paul entered at that exact moment. And actually, he looked just as hot as his sister. If you liked that sort of thing. He was probably the only guy in the world who could wear a damn scarf and look _less _gay for it. Somehow make it seem cool. Looked like a goddamn runway model.

Bobby, however, wasn't really into things on that side of the fence. And, therefore, simply felt amazingly outclassed. And ridiculous, in his own jeans and vaguely Hawaiian black shirt. Had white flowers on it, big ones. He'd liked it... before JP had walked into the room. Not to mention the stupid black twine necklace he had on, the one his first girlfriend had given him (_oh god, not a good memory, don't think about _that!) Goddammit, he must look like a little kid!

Jean-Paul raised his eyebrows at him, and Bobby realized he'd been caught staring. "Looking sexy, Drake," the Canadian practically purred at him, with that smarmy grin he was so good at. 

Bobby felt his face flush, and immediately turned up the cold to make it stop, on reflex.

Sam elbowed him, "Don't start that, it's already cold in here!"

But Jean-Paul was coming toward them now, and had already started giving direction. "Here's the plan, _mes amis_. Amara, you and Ray will go with Kitty and the Brotherhood. Jeanne-Marie, Sam, Roberto, you come with me and Rogue. You'll have to squeeze into the back with Kurt, but it shouldn't be too bad. And you, otter-pop," he turned to Bobby now, "you sit over the stick, next to me, so you can get familiar with the car. You're going to be my DD for the ride home, because I don't plan on being in any kind of state to drive anywhere."

Bobby felt his eyebrows raise in alarm. "Huh?!"

_Oh great. Brilliant, Drake._

JP raised his own eyebrows, to match his expression. "You _do _have a driver's license, _non_?"

Bobby gulped, knowing all eyes in the room were on him. And most of them were as wide with surprise as his. "Uh... well yeah."

"Good. You can drive a stick?"

"Um... yeah. I learned on a stick."

"Excellent. Then you're it. Lance can pick whoever the hell he wants, but since we're teammates and all, I trust you."

"But... Kitty..."

Jean-Paul just stared, this time. "You're joking. Did they let her have a license?"

He gave a nervous laugh, and almost mentioned Kurt as an alternative... but fuck! JP was going to hand over his keys? To _him_? The keys to the amazingly hot silver BMW M5 sitting in the garage right now... hot damn! Guess he hadn't heard about their little joyride incident... "Uh... ok. Glad to do it."

"If you don't want to..."

Sam elbowed him again.

"No. No, it's cool."

Jean-Paul smiled, benevolently. "Thanks. Appreciate it. Let's go, Lance is here. Pietro sent me a text a few minutes ago that said _time to go, bitches_."

Everyone started to follow him out, mostly muttering about the irritating Maximoff. 

Bobby just shook his head, hard, starting to feel like he was wandering through a very strange dream. This was going to be a weird fucking night, alright.

  
  


Wanda could've wished for a better spot. Crammed into the back of Lance's Jeep between Pietro and Ray was not her ideal mode of travel. 

Although, she had to admit, Ray was looking damn good. She'd always liked that hair of his, and wherever he'd been shopping was a definite improvement. 

But Pietro was making her crazy already. "Dude, can you step on it? Damn, I coulda been there an hour ago!"

"Get out and run then, Pietro," Lance snarled from the front seat. He'd been irritated all night by the shiny black long sleeved button-down she'd forced him into, but she wasn't about to have him turn up looking like a hood in a vest and black t-shirt.

She didn't much care what anyone thought of them, of course. Just that she knew Kitty was looking forward to this, and would be happily surprised if he looked decent. And really, he did clean up pretty well. Not like Jean-Paul or Ray... but who the fuck _would _clean up like JP? The man had a morning hair routine that rivaled any woman she knew. It was just the kind of thing the Canadian cover boy would excel at, in fact.

"Dude, they're _beating _us!" Her twin whined beside her, pointing between the front seats to Jean-Paul's silver car as it swerved quickly through the traffic in the city, already a good four cars ahead of them. 

Amara shoved at him impatiently, eliciting a squeak from the speedster, and leaned forward. "Who's your DD, Lance?"

He glanced into the rearview at her, quickly, and then over at Kitty. Who was smiling at him sweetly.

"Um...," he fidgeted, tapping the steering wheel in agitation. "I guess you, since you asked. That ok?"

The dark girl nodded, and sat back satisfied. Kitty made a horrible face, and Lance ignored it entirely.

Wanda rolled her eyes. Jesus, this could end up being a really long night, if she didn't find something to entertain herself with. Why the hell did she let her loser of a brother and his idiot pseudo-boyfriend talk her into things like this?

But finally the huge party of teenage mutants, armed with fake IDs and their best "out to get some" clothes, met up in the parking garage and headed down the street to the club Jeanne-Marie had decided on. She and JP had gone "scouting" apparently, a few nights ago, and this one allowed in eighteen year olds, and had good music. Apparently, it also had a mysterious "upstairs" bar, for the over twenty-one crowd, where dirty deeds were supposedly the order of the day– or night, as it were. But there were only a few of them, really, who were armed with that caliber of ID. So she didn't suspect it would be a problem. JP and Pietro would be the only two who would be interested in that anyhow.

Knowing them, they definitely would. But good god, she didn't want to think about _that_. She loved JP to death, and was glad her brother was finally getting some action (certainly made him less of a ass), but it was _more _than enough to see JP in the morning in his underwear now and then, brushing his teeth with Pietro's toothbrush. More than that, she did not need to know. Sisters do not need details. Definitely not.

Not that she didn't _like _seeing Jean-Paul in his underwear. But it was the principle of the thing.

She found herself standing in the short queue outside the club (short due to the relatively early hour), next to a very nervous looking Sam Guthrie. She looked him over once. Cute kid, really. Needed a hair cut, since he was kinda flirting with a mullet, but he'd obviously found some decent clothes, and had on a pair of cargo pants that made his ass look pretty damn cute. Someone must've informed him that there were materials other than denim. "What's wrong with you, Crash?" she asked him.

He looked over at her, obviously surprised to be spoken to. And probably even more surprised that it was her doing the speaking. "Uh... nothin'. Just a little..."

"Let me guess. Scared as shit?"

He grinned lopsidedly, "Just a little."

She rolled her eyes at him. But really, his stuttering was sort of cute. Endearing, like that backwoods accent. Spending so much time around arrogant speedsters and volatile Brotherhood members really made a girl appreciate things like that. She didn't know him well, just said hi and bye regularly in Spanish class. She would've grouped with him, if the dreaded Mr. Harrison ever let them choose their own groups... "It's no big deal. Just have fun."

He furrowed his brow at her. "Ah cain't dance."

She shrugged. She hadn't exactly spent a lot of time out clubbing, but she knew she could dance well enough, if she wanted to. And she certainly didn't have anyone to impress at a place like this. "Not much to it. Just move when the music does."

"JM tried ta show me, but ah just get... aw hell...," the boy sighed and rolled his eyes skyward, obviously having given up.

Wanda bit her lip for a moment, and made her decision. "Alright, here's the deal. I'll show you how, but you can never speak of this again, alright?"

The southern boy's lopsided grin appeared again, in full force. "Really? Wow... thanks Wanda."

She rolled her eyes once again, cursing herself for an idiot. But what the hell. Not like she had anything else to do. She wasn't planning on getting fucked up like her brother, that ass. She had no wish to feel hung over, or to lose control of herself. Maybe hanging out with Crash would entertain her. 

For a while, anyhow.

  
  


The music hit Kitty the moment they walked into the place, and she immediately started to move, bobbing her head with it happily. "Oh yeah, this is what I'm talking about!"

Kurt grinned beside her, "Oh man, this place is crazy! And listen, they're playing my song!"

Kitty felt her ears perk up, and wrinkled her nose at her friend beside her. "What song is that?"

"I don't know, but I like it!" Came the enthusiastic answer, as Kurt pulled her out onto the dance floor instantly.

She followed along happily, knowing that Lance would be making a beeline for the bar to try out those IDs JP had gotten them all. She did _not _approve, of course... but she wouldn't be allowed in without hers, so really, she had _no _room to complain. She just wished that for once Lance could... chill out. Calm down. Be _good_.

Of course, she liked the bad boy in him too. So maybe not _that _good...

Kurt, having adjusted his inducer to give him the look of a typical club-hopping teen, was grinning at her as he started moving to the heavy thud of the bass that was all around them. His teeth flashed in the changing lights, green, then blue, and she knew that smile well enough. That was her Fuzzy's grin, if she'd ever seen it before. She was glad the inducer didn't change _everything _about him, at least. Even if it did tone the fangs down.

Ray was bouncing nearby, and bumped into her, purposefully with his hips, laughing as it sent her a step to the left. "Dude, this place _rocks_," he looked up and around at the lights that were everywhere, and at the upper level that was for "twenty-one and up only," as the sign said. His lips started moving with the music as he bobbed his head up and down, bent his knees and started doing a clever move Kitty had never seen before.

"Hey man, you're pretty good!" She exclaimed happily at him, taking him by the hand.

"Damn right I am! And you guys too. Dude, I owe Jean-Paul big time for this one. I've been dying to get out of the Institute."

Kurt made an odd grunt of agreement beside them, "_Ja,_ seems like things get so stifling, when school begins again. And no good parties lately, either!"

"Don't I know it. And did you hear," Ray was grinning and bouncing with them now, "JP's letting Bobby drive the M5 home!"

"What?!" Kitty glared over his shoulder at the figure of JP, who was leaning on the bar between his sister and Pietro, sipping some kind of dark drink with a lime sticking out the top of it already. "I'm the oldest one of us not drinking, I should _so _be driving!"

"_Nein, Katzchen_, I am!" Kurt corrected her. "But we'll see about that not drinking issue..."

That did _not _make Kitty feel any better.

Amara bopped up beside them now, and did a rather exotic looking move that involved much hip wiggling and spinning her hands around in tight circles, high over her head, first one hand, then the other. After a moment, she laughed at everyone just watching her, "Traditional dance can be used in non-traditional ways, you guys! Check it out!"

Kitty spent a few moments learning the moves from her while the boys laughed and continued to bounce happily, and Bobby came over to join them. And then she remembered that she was irritated with the little snow-cone machine. "And why are _you _driving Jean-Paul's car home tonight?"

Drake grinned at her recklessly, "No idea, Kitten. Might have something to do with your questionable driving skills."

She hit him with a well aimed blow to the shoulder and he squeaked in protest. "Maybe someone should tell him what the X-Jet looked like when you finished with it!"

He narrowed his eyes at her, no longer brown but flashing red and blue in the lights. "You wouldn't!"

She giggled, finding it hard to be irritated for long with the music flowing through her veins like that. "Don't sweat it, popsicle. I'm just happy to be dancing."

"I'm happy you're dancing too!"

She just looked at him for a moment.

His face flushed.

And everyone started laughing as the temperature dropped a good ten degrees in the surrounding area.

  


This was _so _not Lance's scene. 

He looked around at the press of bodies, the bouncing twenty-somethings, the flashing lights and huge speakers, grumbling to himself unhappily. Kitty was already dancing with that idiot Kurt, just as he'd suspected she would be, and he still didn't have a drink. Well, unless he counted the flask in his pocket. But he definitely needed something more, if he was going to be hanging out at this place all night. Hell, if he had enough, maybe he'd even be able to get up the nerve to try and dance with her.

He was only here because of her, after all. She'd convinced him, in the end. 

At the moment, he was cursing himself for being so weak-willed as to give in to such a request. What the fuck hadhe been thinking?

"Hey rock-head, want a drink?" Pietro was suddenly beside him, grinning evilly and holding two drinks.

Lance furrowed his brow, "Feeling philanthropic, Maximoff?"

"Big word, Lance! Triple word score!"

Avalanche rolled his eyes. He'd learned long ago never to play Scrabble with Quicksilver. Or cards. Or anything that could be cheated at by getting a look at the other players' pieces or cards. Every time, Pietro gave in to his baser urges and looked before they could even see that he'd moved. "That's a first, that you let someone else get one of those."

Pietro stuck his bottom lip out in a rather humorous sort of pout, however, and helped out a drink to him– something tall and light brown, with a lime in it. "Lighten up, dickhead. You looked confused as to how this whole going to the bar and ordering thing works, so I did the honors. Take it."

Grudgingly, he accepted, still confused. "What is it, anyhow?" He took a sip. Sweet. Didn't taste alcoholic at all. Like really sweet–

"Long Island iced tea," the silver-haired speedster told him, bobbing his head a little with the concussive base of the music. "Shit fucks you up fast, and you can't even taste it."

"What, you don't like the taste of alcohol?" He joked.

Quicksilver pursed his lips, pulling yet another comedic face. 

And Lance realized that Pietro probably _didn't _enjoy the taste of alcohol. Which lightened his mood considerably, so that he laughed. "Oh man, that's a good one. What a hard ass, can't even handle a little liquor!" He did consider the guy a friend, in a way, but after all the shit he'd put them through, he couldn't help but be a little delighted to see him humiliated in any fashion, really.

"Hey!" Came the immediate protest, "What's the story here? I buy you a drink, you give me shit? This is what I get for being a nice guy!"

Come to think of it, Pietro _was _being awfully nice. For him. "...you want something, don't you?"

Pietro grinned evilly. "Just your help. Wanda's being bitchy about drinking, but I want to get her fucked up. You know, get her to relax, have some fun. Bring her some of these for me?"

Lance took a thoughtful sip, trying to decide how he could best play the hand that was being dealt to him. "Why don't you do it?"

"You fuckwit, she _knows _I want to get her drunk. Bring her three of these and she won't even realize what's hit her. Just tell her you ran into some extra money in our account, and thought you'd get her something light, since you know she's not a drinker. C'mon, it'll be funny," he was whining by the end of this little speech, bouncing from one foot to the other like an excited three-year-old.

Actually, it would be pretty funny to see Wanda get trashed. Assuming she wasn't an angry drunk, which could be bad news. Possibly the worst news New York City would have had in a few years, really. But in his experience, and he had a lot with drinking even if it wasn't with these fancy cocktail things, people who were usually angry tended to chill the fuck out when they were drunk... and be pretty hilarious, on top of that.

But he figured he'd let Pietro sweat just a little more. The guy made his life hell half the time, the least he could do was give a little back. "I don't know, Pietro..."

"Awww, come ooooon! It would work on Kitty too, I bet , if you shared yours with her..."

Lance shot a sidelong glance over at Kitty, looking absolutely gorgeous in her sleeveless black silky top, with those little black pants... and caved instantly. "Ok, you're on."

Quicksilver grinned, and pulled a wad of cash out of his pocket, then pressed it into his free hand fast. "Great. Heretakethis. She can't see me buying them."

He pushed the money into his pocket without looking, but from the feel of it, he'd be set for the night. For him, Wanda, _and _Kit. "Uh, that was a lot, wasn't it? You sure...?"

Pietro shrugged, "Whatever. Not like JP lets anyone near him buy their own drinks anyhow."

Lance raised an eyebrow. Whatever the fuck was going on between them, he didn't want to know. He knew more than he wanted to already. Pietro's room was a little too close to his own for him to be comfortable speculating when Jean-Paul was in there with him. He usually just went downstairs to watch TV or something, when that happened. 

Not that he was pretending to know what was going on. Just that he'd rather not find out, first hand.

But he couldn't resist the joke, anyhow. "Riiight. Found yourself a sugar daddy."

Pietro actually stuck his tongue out at Lance before turning to walk away. 

  
  


Aurora was fairly certain that if there truly was a heaven, and she liked to think there was, it would be like this.

She liked music like this. Heavy, thudding, that made her heart change its rhythm to match its own. Jean-Paul referred to it in English as "dirty bass." She liked that. It seemed appropriate. Didn't make her feel particularly dirty...

Well, at least, it didn't at first. It was getting there now, though, considering how close Roberto was to her at the moment, smiling at her with those huge, pretty brown eyes of his. Just a hint of sweat at his hairline, dark olive cheeks touched with pink. They were both working hard.

And drinking fast. She didn't normally do this sort of thing. Not because she thought it was wrong or bad, but just because she'd never really been around much alcohol. Sometimes, someone would buy her a drink in Montreal, but she rarely finished, and always left quickly, when it happened. Tonight, Jean-Paul had gotten her the first drink, and stood beside her as she drank it, while he had his own and his first cigarette of the night. And then she'd been found by her beautiful boyfriend, who'd pulled her out on the dance floor.

With whom she'd proceeded to share every drink she'd had tonight. And this made... four so far.

She hoped Jean-Paul wasn't paying attention. He'd warned her not to drink more than four, or she might get sick. And she hadn't felt like telling him to piss off, at the time, due to the music, so she'd only rolled her eyes. She didn't feel sick, anyhow. A little fuzzy, from all the lights flashing, maybe. They seemed to be bleeding into one color sometimes, in her head, behind her eyes, and at other times she could've sworn they changed with the thumping of the bass. Just like her heart rate changed with it.

Just like everything in her. She twisted her hips around, ,and Berto kept his hands on them, moving his own hips to the beat in a way she had to admit was quite lovely. He was the best dancer of all the boys, and she loved that about him. Sometimes, she knew, he seemed shallow. But he did love music, and art, and those were two of her favorite things. And they always ended up having the best time, when they were together. Wasn't that what really mattered? The music?

Thirsty, feeling herself start to sweat under her mass of hair, she took another long gulp of her rum and coke, mid-gyration. When she'd finished, she handed it to Roberto, who removed one of his hands from her, with a charming hesitancy, and took the glass, then a long drink of his own.

They had beer machines, like pop machines, on the corners in his home town in Brazil, he'd told her. It struck her as funny at the moment, as she watched his throat work while he gulped. He lowered the glass and grinned at her, "What are you laughing at?"

"You're quite the drinker."

He kept grinning, and handed the glass back, then returned his hand to her hip and pulled her forward, so that she had to hold the glass out to the side to avoid crushing it between them. His whole front pressed against hers, warm and solid. And he kept moving his hips like that, and she couldn't help but go with it. With the music, but with him too, really. "You're doing pretty well yourself," she could feel him smiling, against her own cheek, "Feeling ok?"

She giggled, and put her lips to his ear. He liked to be kissed on the ear. And she could smell his shampoo, something spicy and woodsy. Felt his soft, curling hair against her face. "Feels good."

He didn't answer. He just made a sort of... growling noise in his throat, and kept dancing. Not really pushing against her, exactly. But definitely touching. Everywhere. And his hands moved to her bare back now, toying with the chain at her waist.

Maybe he was a little bold. But really, so was Aurora. When it came to some things.

Over his shoulder, she caught sight of Wanda, who was, rather surprisingly, dancing with Sam. Not as close as she and Berto were dancing, but... "Berto, look at Sam!" 

Reluctantly, he pulled back a bit, his eyes looking a little glazed, and turned to look over his own shoulder. "Well, fuck me! Go Cannonball!"

She laughed at that, took another drink, and threw an arm over his shoulder as he returned to dancing with her, close, moving against her so nicely, palms flat and hot on her back. She buried her face in his hair and let her lips brush his ear, and felt his hands move downward, instantly.

"You do look really beautiful tonight, Jeanne-Marie," he said, so quietly it was almost lost in the screeching of the electronic bass that was thick in the air around them.

She smiled, into his ear, "You are beautiful too."

  
  


"Aw hell, Wanda," Sam shook his head now, feeling just a little bit dizzy, "Ah'm hopeless. It's real nice of ya ta try..."

For what seemed like the hundredth time tonight, she rolled her eyes at him. And took the last drink from a glass of the mysterious "iced tea" Lance kept supplying her with.

Supplying _them _with, more like.

Avalanche had claimed that it was some strange "Brotherhood fund" providing the drinks. Wanda had sniffed at the first one, suspiciously, and glared an awful lot. Sam, hoping to prove himself the gallant sort, had offered to try it for her. She took him up on it, and he'd found that it tasted... well damn, it tasted _good._ So they'd been drinking them ever since, sharing glass after glass. Three now, maybe? Was it four?"

Sam had no idea... but they definitely were not the "light cocktail" Lance had made them out to be. He wasn't that familiar with drinking. The Guthries never had much in the house (too many kids around, his father claimed), and his friends hadn't really been old enough to get into that scene. And then he came to the Institute, and no one there had ever really drank around him...

Enter the Canadian wonders, and suddenly he found himself swept into the nightlife of New York City. The little boy from Kentucky. Ty and Lucy's oldest. Dancing with a really damn pretty, if slightly scary, girl in a nightclub. And, he had to figure, pretty drunk.

Hella drunk, as Alex would've said. He always liked that "hella" thing, but never really had the guts to say it.

But honestly, he was so out of his league. This place. People like Jean-Paul, Wanda, Rogue, this was a world where they could all exist. _Not _this_ country boy, nooo sir. _

He' been trying to explain that to Wanda, but she wasn't taking no for an answer. And slowly, they'd drifted from the crowd of his friends, until it was just the two of them, drinking and dancing... and hell if he knew how to talk to a girl like _her._

"Don't be an idiot, you hick," she laughed, after the obligatory eye-rolling. "You're looking good. You got something better to do here than learn to dance?"

Admittedly, there was nothing he'd _rather _do in a place like this than be in such close proximity to the oddly mystifying Wanda Maximoff. Not that he liked her, nothing like that. But they had Spanish together, and sometimes, he couldn't help but notice how pretty she was. In a kinda scary, punky way. And she was smart– smarter than that windbag Harrison. And older than Sam. And... well, scary. Powerful. He just never expected that someone like that would be so... nice to him. "No," he kept trying to move with her, hoping she wasn't lying and he'd finally found the beat. But he was getting too fuzzy to really care. Which was probably lucky. "Ah just figured you would, is all."

"Oh yeah," she nodded to the side, toward her brother and JP, not so far from them, voice dripping with sarcasm, "Like watching Pietro grind Jean-Paul all night. No thanks, not interested. Hell, it's not like I ever go out, either, Crash. I just think that dancing is kind of a no-brainer. Someone apparently forgot to get that memo to Drake, however..."

Sam looked past the, he had to admit, mildly obscene sight of the two boys dancing and caught sight of Bobby jumping up and down like a complete fool next to Kurt. Kurt looked pretty good, he figured. But Bobby... "Wow. Do ah look that bad?"

She graced him with a rare smile. Not a sarcastic one. Not a wry one. Just a nice, big smile. "Not anymore, tiger."

Dizzy as he was, he couldn't help but notice that she didn't look so scary when she smiled. And she really had beautiful lips, under that red lipstick. "You should smile more," he said, without thinking.

Her brow furrowed a little, as she moved a closer, considering him, shoulders moving up and down, stomach and hips somehow managing to go side to side as she did it. How she could do _that, _he couldn't imagine. Sure did look good, though. "What do you mean? I smile."

He shook his head, trying not to stare down at her half-bared midriff, moving like that, and took the hand she was holding out, again unthinking. He didn't even realize until he felt the girl's hand in his that he'd done it, but he was too interested in the topic of conversation, Wanda Maximoff's smile, to really feel too embarrassed about it. "Na. Ah mean, ah don't know ya very well, but ah do see ya every day, in school. And ah've never seen ya smile like that before."

A thoughtful expression fell over her face, and red lips turned almost pouty. She bit at the lower one for a minute, as if in deep thought.

Sam... just stared. He was torn somewhere between fascination with her and a sick-stomach feeling of self-consciousness. 

But the "iced tea" had been taking the edge off that sick thing little by little. And really, compared to how it had been when they'd first started dancing, it was practically gone now. 

Still, she was looking at him, and he was just staring back. _Guthrie, ya idiot! Say somethin'!_

But she beat him to it, "That's kinda sweet of you, you know."

He swallowed hard, and tried to keep dancing. Whew, wasn't she something else... "Well, ah just thought... someone should tell ya, is all." 

"Hey guys!" A grinning Lance suddenly interrupted his moment of appreciation, coming from the direction of the JP-Pietro pile up, Kitty smiling stupidly under one of his arms. "We come bearing gifts!"

"Oh look," Wanda was grinning at him. Not that nice smile from before. More like a malicious _I'm about to hurt you_ grin. "The drink fairy. What is this shit, Alvers. I feel–,"

"It's good!" Kitty interrupted, holding out a drink to Wanda. "Quick, take it! I'm not supposed to have it."

Wanda rolled her eyes, yet again, but ultimately accepted.

"You two look cozy," the brunette raised an eyebrow at the other girl.

Sam felt his face flush, and realized that he was still holding Wanda's hand in his. Rather tightly. 

He almost let it drop, but decided against it when he felt her grip on him tighten, inexplicably. 

"Uh... she's teachin' me how ta dance."

Kitty just raised her other eyebrow, to match the already elevated one, and kept looking at Wanda.

"Oh Jesus, Kit, get real," Wanda tugged at him impatiently, and took a quick gulp of her drink. "Let's get outta here, Sam. Let's save Drake from the white boy groove he's got going on."

Sam grinned at Kitty and Lance happily, as he let himself be led around by the hand. 

Sure, he was out of his league. But he'd take what he could get, while he could. He doubted, somehow, that there'd be many more nights in his young life where he had a girl like this one on his arm. And really, it was pretty damn fun. 

  
  


Kitty was staring, open-mouthed. Amara was leaning on her, as if she couldn't hold herself up, shaking her head. 

And Rogue was just... guh.

She didn't know how the hell she felt, other than hot, at that point. And quite possibly drunk as a skunk. But watching Pietro Maximoff and Jean-Paul Beaubier practically go at it on the dance floor was definitely having its effect.

"Oh my god that like... can't be legal," Kitty breathed, hand at her throat, having just joined the other two girls as spectators while Lance went to get himself another drink.

"Ah don't care if it is or not, ah'm enjoyin' it."

And she was. She watched carefully as Jean-Paul wound his strangely fluid body up with Pietro's thinner one, bent to kiss his neck, slid his hands down between them to hook into the front of the silver-haired boy's jeans. Her eyes followed the roll of Pietro's hips, as they pushed covetously against the other boy's, watched how his chest pressed into Jean-Paul's moved with him, like this was something they'd practiced. Jean-Paul's hands slid up between them, pushing Pietro's thin sweater up, so that it showed a white, flat stomach, lined with muscle, hip bones rising sharply out of the low waistband of his jeans. Jean-Paul ran his thumbs along them slowly, and Pietro had his hands in the other boy's hair now, moving JP's head to where he wanted, and covered his mouth with a long, open mouthed kiss. Their jaws worked together, tongues visible in flashes for a moment, necks exposed. Pietro's long, pale hand was running down Jean-Paul's side suddenly, then behind him, sliding into his back pocket.

"I didn't know they were..." Amara whispered, fascinated by the display.

Rogue nodded, "Oh yeah, they are. A few times a day."

"God, does he like... _tell _you about it?" Kitty pulled at her shirt, as if she was having trouble breathing with it so close to her neck. 

"Not explicitly, as per mah instructions, but yeah, ah guess so. Ah mean, he's been in a lot better mood lately, he had to be gettin' laid. Was only a matter of time before ah called him out on it, so he just told me."

"What a waste of two beautiful men," Amara said sadly. "Women everywhere are weeping because of moments like this one."

Kitty wrinkled up her nose, "Whatever, they're totally scary. They deserve each other. But... yeah... they look..."

"Fuckin' hawt?" Rogue supplied.

Kitty nodded, wordlessly, pony-tail swinging.

Jean-Paul suddenly looked over at them. She caught his eyes, icy, intense blue eyes, and he flashed her a smile.

Her heart jumped into her throat. Ok, she really was over that whole crush thing. It was a flash in the pan. But sometimes, she couldn't help but feel like there was a little something more to her friendship with JP than just... well, being friends. Only on her end, of course. She knew that. And it was ok, because it's not like she was in love with him or anything... just... well hell. Natural attraction, call it. And if they were gonna put on a show, there was absolutely no reason she shouldn't enjoy. Friend or not, he was still awfully pretty.

Goddamn. Little bit of sweat in his hair, face flushed. He winked at her, then put his lips to Pietro's ear. Saying god knows what to him. The silver-haired boy suddenly looked over at the girls too, straight at Rogue, and smiled. Insidiously.

She felt her lips start to curl up in a sneer. Alright, so he was fucking hot too. But Christ, Pietro was a little bastard. What the hell was Jean-Paul thinking, anyhow? He was gorgeous, smart, funny, he could have anyone he wanted. And here he was, wasting his heart on this little...

Pietro suddenly slid his hand out of Jean-Paul's back pocket, and held it out in her direction, then crooked his finger at her. Telling her, in no uncertain terms, _come here._

She narrowed her eyes at him, but stopped when she saw Jean-Paul grinning at her. Oh no, they were not _even _serious. She couldn't dance to save her life! Last time he'd made her, she'd felt a complete idiot, and that was just in her room at the Institute! But he raised his eyebrows once, suggestively, and said something else to Pietro, then started to come in her direction.

"Oh Jesus Rogue," she heard Amara practically squeal. "He's totally coming for you. If you end up in the middle of that act, I am going to have to officially hate you for about three weeks."

"Oh god, Pietro is such a dick," Kitty complained. But a quick glance at her showed that she was still looking too drunken and impressed with their former display to manage a seriously disapproving expression. 

"Ladies," Jean-Paul greeted the three of them, as he sauntered up to their little knot. "What, done dancing already?"

"Some of us _don't dance_," Rogue reminded him, smiling in spite of herself. It was just like him, though, to want to get her into something fun. JP was a lot more fun than people gave him credit for, and if he liked you, he liked to spread that around pretty good. He liked seeing his friends having fun more than he liked it for himself, probably. 

He held out a hand to her, "Don't be ridiculous. You've danced with me before."

She shook her head, but started laughing. If he wasn't so goddamn... disarming all the time, she knew very well she would've been able to stand up to him. But between that and her affection for him, not to mention that she'd just been admiring how pretty he was, she really didn't stand a chance. She reached out a gloved hand to him, and he pulled her after him, back to Pietro. 

"Looked like you could use some fun, Rogue-y," the silver-haired imp half sneered, half grinned. 

Weird, how he could manage to be so sincere, but so sarcastic, at once. And it wasn't just that she didn't know the difference. She'd spent enough time around Pietro Maximoff to know that when he said things like that, he meant them both ways, equally. She rolled her eyes at him, and started to retort–

But was stopped when he put his hands at her waist, hot through the thin mesh of her outer shirt, and pulled her close to him, already starting to move to the music. And he just smiled, rakishly. 

_Good gawd, why do ah let mahself get _into _these situations?_

After a few moments, however, she let go of the whole "I don't dance" routine, and let herself he guided by the two boys, one on either side of her. Jean-Paul slid his arms around her from behind, latching them together at her navel and putting his cheek against hers, using her hair for a shield between them. She could _feel _him smiling against her face, and it made her want to laugh, for some reason. For no reason. Pietro's hands slid down a little further, onto the hips of the ragged, ripped up, short jean-skirt she was wearing over heavy black tights, and hooked into her front pockets. 

For a moment, her stomach flipped in panic, remembering just how bad the results of dancing close to someone could end up being. But she was covered. Midriff bearing tank top under long-sleved black mesh over shirt, that clung to her so that they'd have to really make an effort to get to her skin (_not gonna think about that, _so _not gonna think about that... phew, need another drink..._) Safe enough, anyhow, as long as JP kept thinking and kept her hair between them.

And before too long, she relaxed almost completely. Whether it was due to the alcohol, or the music, or the fact that two extremely pretty boys were "showing" her how to dance-- an action which consisted of one on either side of her at all times, moving themselves so that she couldn't help but follow along-- she really wasn't in the mood to resist anymore. Eventually, she even found herself laughing with Pietro as he made jokes about her not being half bad at this dancing thing. Jean-Paul spun her around and she threw her arms around his neck. So warm and alive and just plain... happy. Not a thought in their heads but the feeling of another person so close, closer than she was used to feeling anyone at all. Closer than she could normally allow anyone to get. 

Safe, though. Relaxed. And really, just... fun. So fun, in fact, that she was really feeling pretty guilty after a few songs of grinding and laughing and spinning and twisting. After all... this was Pietro Maximoff who had his arms around her and his front pressed against her and his... 

Hrm. Pietro must've _really _liked to dance...

But really, she could always just blame the fact that she was enjoying dancing with both Pietro _and _Jean-Paul on the liquor. Convenient excuse, that, in case anyone asked. After all, she hated Pietro. 

But she found that she liked him a little bit more, when his mouth was shut, and he was busy looking good.

Some men, she decided, should really be seen and not heard. 

  
  


Roberto had to admit, he was mildly disappointed when Jeanne-Marie expressed a wish to go and dance with everyone, finally. He'd liked having her all to himself. 

He liked the fact that she was so beautiful, of course. What kind of man wouldn't? He even liked that all the boys looked at her like that.

Just, he didn't really want them looking at her.

It didn't make sense, of course, but he didn't try to make it. He was a creature of his emotions, and he knew it. Why fight nature? Rationally, it was nothing. But emotionally, he wanted her all to himself. And he wanted everyone to know that she was all his.

Especially when she was looking the way she looked tonight. She was always amazing, naturally. Just that tonight... there was a lot more of her on display than usual, was all.

And Bobby, Kurt, And Ray (_fucking Ray..._) were all getting an eyeful. All the boys were. Except for Sam, who seemed utterly taken in by the Scarlet Witch's magic for the evening, and was presently staring at her, holding her hand, holding a very intense conversation about god only knew what, and dancing with her. 

Yes, Sam was dancing. And he didn't look half bad.

Maybe he'd finally see the merits of something other than that country shit he was always peddling off as music. God, that shit was terrible. Lost my dog, lost my truck, lost my wife, end of fucking story.

Roberto slid an arm around JM's waist, maybe a little protectively. But she didn't seem to mind. He brushed his fingers over her smooth skin, bare, warm, just slightly sweating. Enjoyed the feeling of closeness almost subconsciously. But even in his alcohol-addled state, his self-preservation instinct kicked in, and he darted a quick look around for a sign of her insane brother... and saw him going up the metal spiral staircase... with Pietro in tow. "What the fuck is _that _about?" he said aloud, without really meaning to.

Kitty had come up beside him, a staggering, grinning Lance in tow (who always seemed to have a fresh drink in hand, no matter when Berto caught a glimpse of him.) Her eyes followed his, and latched on to the two figures just as they disappeared into the upper level of the club. "Holy shit!"

Roberto shook his head at the sheer, unadulterated shamelessness of Jean-Paul Beaubier. "_Bicha louca..._"

Jeanne-Marie had taken notice now, and looked over at him, still laughing from something Drake had been saying. "What's that?"

His drunken mind fumbled for some way to avoid telling her that first off, he'd just seen her brother disappearing upstairs with Pietro, and second, that he'd just effectively called her brother a fag. He hadn't meant it to be so derogatory, but he really wasn't in control of his functions at the moment... it had just come out... ahh fuck.

Kitty, however, came to his rescue, "I stepped on his foot! Whooo, sorry Berto! Clumsy me!"

He shot the older girl a grateful look, and saw that Kitty was still wide-eyed with the knowledge of what was going on with JP at the moment (not that it meant anything, of course, that they were making their way to the nefarious "upstairs..." maybe they were just going to check things out... oh fuck, like he could believe _that_...,) despite her timely, if somewhat awkward, save. He shook his head at her quickly, enforcing, hopefully, what Kitty already knew. JM was _not _to find out about that.

If Jeanne-Marie knew what they'd just seen, she would go into fits. The first time she'd seen Pietro coming out of JP's room half naked, she'd nearly flipped her lid. And he adored her too much to let her be upset. Berto was unclear on whether it was the fact that her brother was gay, or the idea that he was doing _Pietro_ that really bothered her. Sometimes, it seemed more like one, and sometimes more like the other. He really didn't want to think of the implications there– JM's disorder gave her enough trouble without confusing the shit out of her about issues like this. Thinking of her trying to muddle through her reasons for her feelings, finding two answers to the same question, and being unable to sort out which was real... god. 

He knew there was nothing he could do to help. But he could at least protect her from it, as best he could. She was strong, and he knew it. She'd proven it to him more than once. But it was so hard to tell what would... set her off. Make her... well, crazy.

And if anything could, it would be her brother. A fact that irritated him to no end, really, in a vague, yet insistent way. He could've sworn he'd only signed on for one Beaubier... but damn, sometimes he felt like his love life really hinged on both of them.

Kitty nodded to him, obviously getting the message loud and clear, and understanding the reasoning behind it, despite the fact that she was as tanked as Roberto himself. He smiled at her, feeling a huge rush of thankfulness that she was at least sober enough to help him out on this one. And then, he felt Jeanne-Marie slide out of his grip.

As she had a tendency to do. Sometimes, holding on to her was like trying to hold on to water. Or air.

Quickly, he looked to see what the hell that was about, and saw her going toward Drake's outstretched arms, as Lance, a suddenly present Rogue, Kurt, and that insufferable shit Ray encouraged the two of them with laughter.

He narrowed his eyes, feeling his blood heat, feeling his body searching for something more, that energy inside of him... but there was no sun inside, so there was no point in starting something. No juice.

Even if he _really _wanted to start something. 

Amara came up on his other side, however, and took his arm, laughing at the spectacle of JM trying to get Bobby to look like less of an idiot when he did that bouncing shit, and he smiled down at her. She started moving just a little, doing some sort of move with her other arm and swiveling her hips. Reminded him of the Hindi movies his friend from back home used to watch all the damn time. Not exactly, but it had that slinky, flowing look to it. 

Hell. What was he mad about again? He was going out! This was what they _did _at home. It wasn't _Carnival _in Rio, exactly, but it was pretty damn fun. 

And anyhow, it was all about the music, right? 

  
  


Kurt was, to put it mildly, worn out.

All those sessions in the Danger Room should've given him better stamina, shouldn't they? 

What was going on here?! He sagged against the support of Kitty's shoulder, who had kept on dancing even after Lance had retired to one of the couches. Along with Sam and Wanda, who looked really beat. And who were acting pretty ridiculous, really.

He hadn't known that Wanda Maximoff had it in her to _ever _act ridiculous. But he could've sworn that she was... flirting with the younger boy. In a sort of bossy, matter-of-fact way. And that Sam, somehow, was managing to flirt back. In a very... well, _Sam_ way, but flirting nevertheless.

Alcohol was a strange and wonderful thing. He was not unfamiliar with it. He was German, after all. But he'd declined to get completely hammered tonight, and had been content with the three beers Jean-Paul had smuggled to him throughout the course of the night. Particularly after he noticed that Lance was trying to get the better of Kitty by getting her far more drunk than he'd expected such a little girl could handle. He figured _someone _who was older ought to remain _slightly _responsible, even if that wasn't his usual gig.

He hated to think that Scott was rubbing off... but if Scott was growing a sense of humor, it seemed like a fair trade, really.

And he didn't mind so much, anyhow. Drunk people were fun to mess with after all. He was more in the mood to just dance his tail off, and have a good time, than he was for a hangover.

Correction, he _had been _in the mood to dance his tail off. Now he just wanted to go to bed. Kitty led him, helpfully, over to the side of the club, and helped him step up onto the arcaded platform the couches were on. The place was dead cool, with those little alcoves for people to just relax and nurse their drinks, if they weren't into dancing. The light was lower under the arcades, and the flashing was less insistent. 

As he landed on a couch next to Kitty, however, he found that the thump of the bass was no less insistent. Went right through the furniture, into his tail.

Not that anyone could _see _his tail, at the moment. But he could feel it, nevertheless. It was arranged rather awkwardly behind him, since he was sitting like everyone else, which always made him a bit uncomfortable. But he hadn't the energy to fix it, at the moment.

"Ach, _Katzchen_, I've danced myself out."

She giggled, "You're so silly Kurt. I'm still going, and I've had way more to drink!"

"You, _meine Freunde_, are drunk," he reminded her. "If I were drunk, I'd still have some dance left in me too."

She laughed. "I guess I have _Lance _to thank for that," she turned her head toward him and yelled his name as she said it. 

The mutant in question opened his eyes and blinked at them. "Huh? Wha– Kitty. Kitty, come over here!"

She stuck her tongue out at him, pushed off Kurt's chest, and continued dancing right there in the comparatively peaceful alcove. 

The girl was unstoppable. Just _watching _her, no matter how pleasant it was, made him even more tired.

Rogue suddenly hopped over the back of the couch and landed next to him, holding a cigarette in one gloved hand and a glass of water in the other. "How's it goin', bro?"

He leaned on her heavily, and looked up with what she called "those damn puppy dog eyes" (even when they were yellow.) "Ach, tired!" 

She rolled her eyes and inhaled on the cigarette heavily. "Don't be such a baby, Kurt!"

He sat up, laughing at her. "Since when do you smoke?"

"Since JP gave me one and the huge sweaty guy who was just tryin' to dance with me offered to light it."

"You're drunk!"

She took the cigarette from her mouth, and stuck it between his lips, carefully, then sat back and smiled at him. "You're a genius, kiddo."

He just shook his head at the grin on her face, so out of place on his gothically tragic "sister," and noticed that Kitty's personal dance party in front of them had grown exponentially. Bobby, Ray, and JM had come to join her, invading what he'd hoped would be his personal little haven until it was time to go. He sighed, inhaled on the cigarette still stuck between his lips, and looked down at his watch. 

Then gasped. _Scheisse, _no wonder he was tired! It was one AM! The place would close in an hour, and they were missing half of their X-Men. Suddenly, this whole being the "responsible" older kid was becoming pretty irritating. Man, what a drag! 

He glanced around quickly, to take stock of who was there and who was missing, and his eyes fell on Sam and Wanda, at the other end of the small alcove.

And the cigarette dropped out of his mouth, as it fell open. Rogue saved it, luckily, and probably returned it to her own mouth, but he really had no idea. He was too busy staring. 

No... he had to be seeing things. That was definitely a hallucination. 

_Unglaublich..._

  
  


To be Continued, next time!

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

AN: First off, I just wanted to say that I really appreciate all the thoughtful responses to the last chapter. I honestly expected it to bore the shit out of people. I purposely went from smut to ponderous navel-gazing because 1- A story fic like this allows me that freedom, and far be it from me not to use every freedom at my disposal. 2- The chronology of things works out this way, for character development reasons. And 3- Trying to put myself in her shoes, I remembered that I spent a lot of time at that age sorting my head out, about spirituality. I'm trying to define her, as a character, based on those things that are important, at that point in your life. A point I'm not all that far from myself, but am far enough from that it sometimes requires a little thought to get there ;) I'm really pleased that it seemed to inspire some kind of reaction from some people, I honestly didn't expect anyone to give a damn.

That said, let me also respond to the reactions to JP's angry agnostic point of view. The response to his conversation with JM was both the most positive (seemed that many people can identify with the ideology I tried to articulate there,) and the most negative (due to his sometimes over-blown accusations and possible exaggeration.) A few people pointed out to me that saying that religion kills more than disease is illogical and just plain wrong. If this detracted from the story for you, my apologies. That was not my intent, of course. I do want to say that first off, the points of view represented in this fic were not my own., and everything I had the characters say was merely something someone of that same point of view has said to me at one time or another, in an attempt to portray the points of view from an honest a perspective as I could. Except, perhaps, for Wanda's ideas, which are essentially my own, but I'm not selling anything here! I swear! And secondly, Jean-Paul was being emotional, and trying to look logical. People do this a lot when they feel really strongly about something, but are refusing to become emotional outright, knowing it detracts from the credence of their point of view. Of course, so do exaggerations, but he's angry JP, after all. Perhaps I failed in some way to make it clear, that this was the effect I was going for, but please don't be offended by that statement, or by any others in the story. 

You all have no idea how much this helps my writing. Makes me so aware of what I've said, and if there is a better way to say it. I honestly can't thank you enough for the honest reviews.

Right! Moving on!

_Akuma no Tsubasa_: I agree that JM's upbringing was a very integral part of her character... or it _should _be, if Marvel didn't waste her ;) I appreciate that you felt the various points of views were decently represented. I was afraid that I would seem more biased toward the one I actually tend to lean toward, but it seems like everyone is ok with the way it went down. Admittedly, there is a special place in my heart for JP/Bobby. I love it. They are perfect. Evo Bobby, not so sure... guess it just depends on how you write your Evo JP! But 616... so much love for them. You're right, it seems so real, the randomness of it. Sue and I are working on 616 stuff right now, and she won't let me have them shag! Oh god, don't hurt me, I love you Sue!

_Angharad_: I'm glad that I made her perspective understandable. It's honestly not one that I share, so there was much acting involved, let me tell you. Thank you for the compliment, and lovely to meet you.

_Relwarc_: While I share your sexual attitudes, I was raised in a fairly religious (though hardly fundamentalist) household, and am most definitely an atheist. Probably part of what motivated the writing of the chapter in the first place, the broad range of views I've been exposed to in my lifetime, much like yourself! I agree that many of the charges leveled at religion are foolish– the charge that Islam is a violent religion, that the Hindu goddess Kali is a "goddess of death" (don't get me started on that...,) etc. etc. Funny how people latch on to things like that, when they're angry at a religion, or afraid of it. I hope that came through, in the chapter. And Kurt, huh? You're right, I haven't used the Elf much. Which is a damn shame, since I'm mildly obsessed with him. The request for Scott's reaction to Alex being gay shall not go unheard, either, my friend. It's in the pipeline!

_Guidi: _I'm flattered that you thought the last chapter was any thing in the realm of mind-blowing. I can understand the failed Catholic thing, being from a large Irish-Catholic family myself, as well as having an ex-Catholic schoolboy for a boyfriend, at the moment. Personally, I'm from the "I don't need all the answers" camp, and Wanda's point of view was mine, essentially. I've never read "Sophie's World," but I've seen both Stigmata and Dogma repeatedly, and loved them both. I will definitely look it up! It's really funny, what you say about Alex being so... "restrained." Excellent point... I hadn't thought of it like that! And yes, Murmur should die. Is she around? I should bring her in just so I can axe her. God she was annoying...

_Caliente_: I dunno that I'm terribly deep. I think I just had a lot of free time in high school. ;) You're right though, JP's PoV was definitely the most difficult one to live with, and oddly enough, the one that most people seemed interested in. It is a valid one, definitely. While I am a raging atheist, as you may have seen in the rest of this AN, I definitely respect and admire religion, and the need for it. It's a beautiful thing. A beautiful thing I don't have the capacity for. So much for being deep! And don't worry, I like philosophical mumbo jumbo. It makes my world go round, sometimes! I do understand about feeling as if you've let a family member down by not following their faith, though. Oh yes. Ohhhh yes. And Sam... Sam!!! 3

_Risty_: The shift from smut to theology wasn't exactly what I'd call "impressive..." maybe a little more... ADD? No, really. I'm with you, Wanda, and Bobby, but you're right. Angels are pretty damn badass. Glad you picked up on that, I was wondering if anyone would! Go go gadget bad symbolism!

_TKD_: Ok, so here's a story for you. When I was 17, we were at the Cleveland Museum of Art and it was like the... I dunno something anniversary of the diocese there. So they had this huge show of art from the Vatican. And they had _Entombment_. I walked into the room, stared at it, and stopped dead in my tracks, and immediately started crying. In this room full of people. Seriously, completely redefined my idea of beauty. And you _know _I don't do dead white guy art– Tibet or bust, with me. That whole Nepal thing three years later finished shaping my idea of beauty, but goddamn this is a long-winded pretentious sonofabitch of an Author's Note, so I'll spare you... I do appreciate your encouragement when it comes to the story by story format I'm doing here. I wasn't sure if it was working– if I was treading water and just screwing around, since I'm essentially writing fluff (Spiritual Fluff (tm) is my new term, thanks!) Glad to know it feels ok. You're awfully fucking sweet to me, you know. And yes. Yay Wanda!

_jacob: _Oh gratz on the cable! Gods, I miss my DSL... anyhow, I really appreciate your comments on the Alex coming out chapter. I think the tension and undercurrent of the whole thing were really what made me want to write it in the first place, and I'm so pleased that it came through I can hardly think straight right now. My brother has just told me to read "The Da Vinci Code," actually, so I'm bound to check that out soon, and I've never heard of "Angels and Demons," but those are two of my top interests, when it comes to western religion, so I will _definitely _check that recommendation out as well. Thank you so much for your thoughtful reviews, you can't know how helpful it is to me to get feedback like that. Lovely of you.

_Shaman Dani_: The warm fuzziness of learning about their teammates hits me too darlin. I love to just have them figure stuff out about each other. Human interaction, though I complain about humanity on a daily basis, really is inspiring sometimes. Appreciate the comments, as usual! You're a dear!

_S-Star_: Ach sorry, hope I didn't cause brain freeze. No one should be subjected to theological and/or philosophical ramblings early in the morning, that's for damn sure. This one might've been more to the early crowd's taste!

_Fata Morgana: _I'm really glad that you enjoyed it... and guess what? You were my 100th review. God, never thought I'd see the day _that _happened. I agree, the Church does bring peace to many people. As to JP being raised Catholic... I never really thought he would have much time for that, like you said, except for the first six years of his life. Never seen it addressed, I just assumed that culturally speaking, his exposure would be pretty everyday. And that he wouldn't be too excited about them, really. But he's made comments about "god" before in the comics, god making you a certain way, blah blah blah, so I went for agnostic. And don't worry about shutting up. You know I love to blab about these twins ;) 

Oh god, will I _ever _stop talking?! Anyhow, it's pretty important to me that everyone realizes that it means a lot to me, all of the thoughtful comments and encouragement and corrections. I'm just trying to get better, and it wouldn't happen if no one gave enough of a flying fig to leave me a review. So if I missed you, I'm sorry! And you'll be hearing from me some time very soon. Thanks. 3 -Beaubier-


	14. Dirty Bass Part 2

WARNING (in case you've forgotten, already): This chapter contains, among other things, breaking the law, mass consumption of alcohol, dirty dancing, skimpy clothing, Gucci clothing, (MUCH STRONGER) sexual innuendo (than the first part,) a random drunken hook-up, bad driving, SERIOUSLY slashy themes, Wayne's World quotes, pretentious internal monologue, and a sing-along to Korn and Limp Bizkit's evil "All in the Family." If any of these things are going to offend you, please skip this! Otherwise, welcome to the second part of _Evolution: Up All Night_!

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Dirty Bass (Continued)

_Wherein the kids have their night out on the town_

_Telltale Quote: Dude... if you're gonna spew... spew into this -Bobby Drake_

  
  
  


Pietro, for one, felt much better. 

He smoothed out the front of his recently replaced sweater, shot himself one last long glance in the huge mirror in the bathroom, and turned his gaze to his best friend (though that hardly explained their relationship, at this point,) Jean-Paul Beaubier. Who was looking, as usual, like a million bucks. Like he hadn't even been touched. Shirt perfectly unwrinkled, scarf straight and unmussed, hair totally in order. All cleaned up and pretty again.

He looked fucking good tonight. Like a goddamn movie star.

Hell, he'd even looked like a movie star five minutes ago, shirtless, breathless, leaning up against the door waiting for Pietro to...

Guh. Fuck. Not again. Sometimes, it was a great thing, being so quick to recover. But other times, it was a real pain in the ass. 

He couldn't help it that he was fast and impatient! It was his mutation! 

"What?" The Canadian raised his eyebrows, questioningly, when he caught him staring.

"You look pretty, flyboy."

Jean-Paul laughed, "I'd better. Took me an hour to get dressed."

"Dude, you're such a girl."

"How long did you take in the bathroom getting ready tonight, Pietro?" Jean-Paul crossed his arms over his chest and leaned on the bathroom sink, a little unsteadily. 

At that, Pietro raised one silver eyebrow, and decided not to answer. Wanda had almost killed him, he was in there so long. She had, in fact, made his hair gel chase him out, after about an hour. "Ah, fuck you."

"You're never happy," Jean-Paul mock sighed, pushing off the sink now and grabbing him by the front of his sweater, pulling him toward the door. "So goddamn demanding. I let you make a mess of me, and you complain that I ought to fuck you too."

Pietro, in his drunken state, couldn't help but linger on just how good the word "fuck" sounded coming out of his friend's mouth like that. Something about that word and its implications was positively brilliant, when it was JP's voice that said it.

And anyhow, he knew damn well Jean-Paul was just giving him shit. The guy _liked _getting messy. 

Ah fuck, that was hot.

Jean-Paul pushed the door open, and grinned back at him, giving his shirt one last tug to bring him up so that they were walking beside each other. "And don't look at me like that right now. I've just gotten you calmed down. I'd like you to be able to walk out of here, and if we disappear again I'm never going to hear the end of it from Rogue tomorrow."

"Shoulda brought her along," Pietro laughed, sliding an arm around Jean-Paul's waist as they stopped so the other boy could light up a cigarette. 

Jean-Paul passed the first to Pietro, and then lit himself one, and threw an arm around his shoulders as they started walking again, toward the steps. "Good god, Pietro, she can suspend her hatred of you for long enough to share a dance or two, but I think that might be pushing it. And stop looking at them– you get excited again, you're on your own. I don't want to hear you bitch about blue balls, and no, I'm not carrying you out."

Pietro pulled his eyes off of the mostly naked couple practically going at it on the dance floor near the upstairs bar. And tried not to pay attention to the various other blatant sex acts that were happening amidst the thudding of the bass and the haze of the alcohol and the red, red lights that defined the beautifully twisted "upstairs." Goddamn. So much sex. Right out in the open. And Jean-Paul walked by it like he didn't even notice.

He knew better, of course. Pietro knew damn well that JP's libido rivaled his own. But where Pietro didn't bother to control it, Jean-Paul was almost _always _in control. 

Which was _precisely _what made it so fucking sexy when he finally broke. Like he had, roughly ten minutes ago.

Fuck. Yeah, this guy was definitely good enough for him. Weird, how this shit had turned out. But JP made it seem like it was no big deal. Never wanted him to act all... stupid and romantic. Jean-Paul had made it more than clear that he wasn't interested in the whole "boyfriend" scene, and that if Pietro wanted to continue to date people, that was his prerogative. And despite the fact that Pietro had about as much interest in dating anyone at that point as JP did, which was absolutely zero to be blunt about it (why buy the cow when you get the sex for free... or whatever...,) it was the _idea _of such an arrangement that made the whole thing so comfortable. No jealousy, no expectations, no bullshit. Well, no more than your average friendship. Which, he knew, he was lucky to have from Jean-Paul at all, considering what a dick he'd been to him on more than one occasion.

So this whole best friends who have sex thing was _really_ a stroke of fortune that he didn't deserve.

Which, of course, didn't mean he wasn't going to take full advantage of it. But, he told himself, at least he had the sense to realize that he didn't deserve it.

Anyhow, that boyfriend love story romantic bullshit was so... well, he _wanted _to say it was... gay. But the irony of that was pretty hard to escape, so he was presently trying to come up with a better word.

Either way, this digging a guy thing was just getting better and better every day.

He staggered just a bit with a sudden head rush, as Jean-Paul slipped out of his grip to start descending the stairs in search of their friends and housemates. The dark-haired boy looked up at him, smirking. "One too many, Pietro?"

Pietro blew a nice long gust of smoke right into his smug face, "Nicotine, dickhead. Speedsters and stimulants. Or are you too drunk to feel it?" 

Jean-Paul raised those upswept eyebrows once again (damn, that was sexy too... how was it that everything JP did ended up making Pietro want to do really dirty things to him... or maybe that was just Pietro... or maybe it was just the alcohol... no wait, that happened when he wasn't drunk... well fuck...), and grinned. "I'm too fucking worn out for it to matter, at the moment. Just don't hurt yourself, hm?"

Pietro followed him down the stairs, holding carefully to the hand rail to avoid any embarrassing stumbling that might occur if he wasn't careful. Goddamn, so much depressant alcohol in his system... and this cigarette was fucking with his sensitive systems again, kicking them back into high gear for a few seconds at a time. But oh, that head rush was good. 

Fuck it, he could just let JP guide him back to their friends. He took another long drag as he reached the bottom of the stairs safely, and scraped his tongue against his teeth, trying to get rid of that weird combination of alcohol, nicotine, and Jean-Paul that was clinging to it, despite the half-gallon of water he'd sucked down in the bathroom, and hooked a finger into the back of JP's belt. Thus attached to his friend, he staggered along happily behind him until they made their way to the other side of the crowded club, and the small alcove the rest of their company was occupying.

"Looks like the party is over, _mon ami_," The darker speedster was laughing, as Pietro finally stepped up to his side to survey the wreckage of the group. Kitty, JM, and Ray were still dancing like they'd never stop, but pretty much everyone else had found a couch and were collapsed all over each other, with ridiculous grins on their faces, for the most part.

"This was a good idea, JP! Damn, we're smart!" Pietro announced, waving his cigarette.

Jean-Paul grabbed his wrist, as Pietro's cigarette nearly scorched his shirt, and rolled his eyes at him. "I already have to replace buttons because of you–,"

But as he looked at his burning cigarette, Pietro's eyes continued to travel, to a shadowy recess in the alcove, where there was one couch occupied by only two people...

And he froze. He felt his forehead creasing with irritation instantly, and his teeth clenched hard in... anger? Something like anger. Something _bad_, whatever it was.

JP let go of his wrist, and turned his head to follow Pietro's gaze. When he saw what it was he was staring at, he let out a low whistle, "Wow. Didn't see that one coming."

"I'll destroy him," Pietro found himself growling, without ever parting his teeth. His could feel his lip curling up now in a snarl, just enough to let the sound through.

There, only a few yards from where he was standing, was the normally hapless Sam Guthrie.

_Kissing_ his sister. They were sitting close, on the couch, faces hidden by their obviously open-mouthed kiss. Sam had one hand on Wanda's knee, and the other on the back of the couch, and Wanda had her hands on top of his... oh... oh man, _someone _was going to die for this...

JP laid a hand on his shoulder now, and held him firmly, like he could feel Pietro's need to dart off and pull that southern bumpkin _off _of Wanda immediately. "Easy, boy. I know how you feel... but Wanda might kill you if you go over there in a rage..."

Pietro was having a hard time processing why, exactly, he was feeling this way all of the sudden. This feeling of... _protectiveness_, or something. But he honestly did want to strangle Cannonball, at the moment. In fact, his hands were positively twitching.

"Anyhow, you're the one who wanted to get her drunk."

He pulled his eyes off the horrifying display in the corner, and glared at his friend. But before he could unleash the tirade of swearing and bitching he could feel coming on, he noticed that Rogue had come to his side. Or rather, she forced him to notice her when she gave him a solid thump to the chest.

"Don't ya even think about it, Quickie," she snarled at him through purple lips, tightening her fist around a good chunk of his sweater. "Ah see you lookin' at them, and don't you dare go act like a jerk. Not after you two disappear for a half hour lahk that."

Momentarily shocked that Rogue would dare to push _him _around, he just gaped at her. 

She took that, apparently, as an invitation to continue bitching him out. "Ah'm serious. Ya go over there and the gloves come _off_."

Really, she was pretty hot when she was mad. So Pietro grinned at her.

She rolled her eyes, and let go of his shirt with a slight shove that sent him into Jean-Paul's waiting arms. His friend straightened him up, and said, "She does have a point..."

"You get mad when Roberto even _looks _at JM!" He argued, no longer grinning and suddenly deciding he might want to strangle JP as well, just for good measure. Of all people, he _really _ought to understand.

Jean-Paul smirked at him, unimpressed. "True. But if she were dating Sam, I'd have no worries. In fact, she'd have my blessing. He's a good guy. Not to mention in heaven right now."

Pietro started to argue again, but Rogue cut him off. "We're not _talkin' _about Berto and JM, we're _talkin'_ about Wanda and Sam. Look, ya can even see their hands! It's harmless! Not like you two..."

JP raised his eyebrows at him suggestively, and gave him a sudden smack on the ass that stung quite nicely.

Ah, fuck. 

Well, that certainly put it into perspective. Still wasn't fair, considering JP's aversion to DaCosta. But he _did _have a point. Guthrie was harmless...

And it kinda _was _his fault, after all. He'd been the one who'd wanted her to get drunk, relax, have some fun...

Right. Right, he was being stupid. Hell, Wanda had the power to take on their father, she could sure as hell handle Sam Guthrie. Jesus, what the hell was he thinking, getting all upset over that...?

Obviously thinking the situation diffused (what, was that some kind of Girl Power thing, defending one of her _sisters_, or something?) Rogue turned away from him, as Kurt grabbed her attention with a joke he was telling his half-asleep crew of drunken mutants. Jean-Paul started to say something else, but was cut off by the appearance of his own sister, who threw herself into his arms and started babbling happily in French, then pulled him away to dance with her. 

Standing alone now, Pietro watched them for a moment, the drunken, startlingly similar Beaubier twins, laughing and dancing with each other. Weird. They'd only known each other for a few months, and they were closer than he and Wanda, who had grown up with each other.

Not that Wanda remembered anything _real _about that. 

But still, something about that was pretty lame. 

Anyhow, it _did _calm his anger a little more, and he found that he had all systems in his complete control once again.

Man... that was weird. Never felt _that _before. Well... not exactly. He had, but it was so long ago, he could barely remember it. He considered this newfound protectiveness with a characteristic Quicksilver train wreck of a thought process (_Lame. Shock. What? Protect. Choke. Destroy. Damn. Laugh_,) as he watched Roberto DaCosta scowling at the Beaubiers from his seat next to a passed-out Lance. And suddenly decided that he didn't much care for the little Brazilian Wonder either, just on principle. 

Much to his surprise, his drunken internal monologue was suddenly broken into by a very flushed, very drunk Kitty Pryde, who had him by the hand and was pulling him into her arms. "C'mon Pietro, last dance!"

For a minute, he just stared at her, confused. But soon enough, he was dancing with Shadowcat as if he'd never been angry. And definitely as if she wasn't supposed to be one of his friends' girlfriends. Man, she must _really_ love to dance.

  
  


Ray hadn't had so much fun in years. 

Not even in the Danger Room. Not even fighting with Roberto.

He was in the front seat of JP's M5, Bobby at the wheel, Kurt sitting bitch. He'd traded rides with Sam, who was suddenly surgically attached to Chick Maximoff (as opposed to Dude Maximoff. He and Alex had recently devised similar designations for the Beaubiers recently as well,) much to everyone's surprise and amusement. Jean-Paul was in the back seat, trashed off his Canadian ass and not giving a fuck that Bobby was about to make his transmission drop out the bottom of the car in the middle of New York City, one arm around Rogue, one around his sister. Roberto was on the other side of JM, behind Ray.

But even that didn't bother him, in the least. 

"Oh shit, this is Korn and Limp Bizkit!" Bobby suddenly shouted, cranking up the stereo.

Ray immediately recognized the familiar strains of the singularly offensive rant known as "All in the Family," and whooped with joy. "We gonna do this, Drake?" He leaned over Kurt and leered at the boy in the driver's seat.

Bobby shot him a sidelong glance, grinning, and nodded, "Only if I get to be Jon Davis."

"You're on."

The entire front seat started bobbing their heads as one, Kurt included, as Bobby turned the sound up even louder. Damn, JP had a good stereo... must've been some kind of custom job. "Say what, say what?" Ray spat, flipping Bobby the bird over Kurt's lap.

"My dick is bigger than yours!" Bobby announced, along with Korn's lead singer, as the whole back seat cracked up.

And they continued on, through more _say what say whats _until the entire car was having so much trouble sitting upright that everyone was on each other's shoulder, near hysterical.

Ray flew through his first verse with no hitches. This was his shit, he knew it like the back of his hand. Kurt was clearly unfamiliar with the little tune, because he was laughing after every line, and the people in the back were no less entertained. 

"Check you out, punk," Bobby was retaliating with Jon Davis now, gesturing wildly, like some kind of ridiculous skinny white boy metal-head, his head bouncing dangerously, "Yes I know you feel it! You look like one of those dancers from that Hanson video you little faggot ho!"

This drew even louder cackles from the drunken back seat, as Ray feigned total outrage at the insults, making his hands into fists and swinging them in Bobby's direction so that Kurt had to hold him back.

"Please give me some shit to work with," Drake continued, shooting him a cocky glare, "Cause right now, I'm all it kid. Suck my dick kid. Like your–daddy–did."

"Oh Christ!" Jean-Paul sounded like he was having trouble breathing in the back.

But Ray knew that the fun had only just begun, and launched into his own retaliation, grinning so hugely it almost hurt. "Who the fuck you think you're talkin' to?" he shot back with Fred Durst, gesturing, he knew, like a sad white boy rapper– which was pretty much his opinion of the Limp Bizkit frontman anyhow.

"Me!" Bobby announced, somewhat more high pitched than the sinister tones of Jon in the background.

"I'm known for eatin' little whiney chumps like you," Ray continued, punching at the air in front of Kurt again.

"Whatever!" From Bobby.

"All up in my face with that–,"

"_Are you ready?!_" His opponent roared, this time in a startling approximation of the Korn frontman.

"But halitosis–," Ray shook his head and sneered, "is all you're rockin' steady. You little fairy–,"

"_Scott!"_ Bobby announced, totally spontaneously, causing another peal of laughter from the backseat, and making Kurt hold his sides in laughter.

"Smellin' all your flowers," Berserker was laughing so hard at his friend's outburst that he was having trouble keeping up with the verse now, "Nappy hairy chest– look it's Austin Powers!"

"Ah, yeah bay-bee!" the opposition drawled, with a particularly offensive cockney accent.

And Ray found that he couldn't finish the verse at all, because Bobby's Austin Powers "impression" was simply too much for all of them.

Except for Iceman himself, who was right back on it with the next part, "What the fuck you sayin'? You're a pimp? Whatevah! Limp dick! Fred Durst needs to rehearse," he shook his head from side to side comically, "needs to reverse what he's sayin'!" And he carried on through the rest of the verse.

But Ray really didn't notice, because it had suddenly occurred to him that this song was not particularly... PC. And JP was in the back seat. He turned around as Bobby sneered and bounced by turns to his verse, and caught the Canadian X-Man's eyes with his own.

He didn't seem bothered. In fact, he was laughing so hard that Rogue was fanning him like she was afraid he would stop breathing.

But still... that wasn't cool. Not being one for categories, Ray didn't really spend much time thinking about JP's sexual proclivities. Hell, he didn't even categorize his own, just because he had something of a rebel in him that hated the way society pushed people into a little box and neatly labeled them for reference. Mutant, student, punk, straight, smart, gay, flatscan, emo, boyfriend, girlfriend, whatever the fucking category was. It irritated him to have someone tell him what he was about, when all they knew was the label. So he didn't like to do it to anyone else, ever. And he sure as fuck didn't want anyone thinking he approved of bashing anyone for some stupid label society put on them. It was cool that JP was chill about the whole thing... 

But still, it was kinda shitty to talk like that with dude in the car. 

(And damn, he needed to stop calling everyone "dude" all the time. Living with Alex was rotting his brain, he was sure of it...)

"Yo, sorry about the whole gay bashing thing," he told Jean-Paul anyhow, over the screeching guitars.

Jean-Paul waved his hand, on the other side of Jeanne-Marie, who had her face buried in his shoulder and was shaking with laughter. "Fuck it, _mon ami_. That's entertainment."

Maybe Alex was right. Dude could be pretty laid back, apparently...

(Goddammit, again with the "dude..." ah hell, why fight it?)

Ray turned back around in his seat, and caught Kurt smiling at him. Almost like he was proud, or something.

But Bobby was already yelling, "I hate you!"

So Ray had no choice but to yell back, "And I hate you!"

"You know what you know what?" Bobby looked over at him again, quickly, eyebrow raised.

"It's all–in the–family," they chorused.

Again, Ray tripped through his verses, laughing and bouncing and nearly causing Bobby to rear-end the car in front of them... twice. But they made it and Bobby launched into his final run, "Come on hillbilly! Can your horse do a fuckin' wheelie? You love it down south and boy–," he shot Ray an evil grin and put on his best "Deliverance" accent, "You sure do got a purdy mouth."

"Oh, that's terrible!" Jeanne-Marie screeched as her brother made a rude gesture to explain what it was the song was talking about. She reached up and smacked Bobby on the back of the head now as he and Ray traded more _I hate you_s back and forth.

Blessedly, Bobby reached out and turned the volume back down again, before the song got _really _foul at the end, where the two singers started yelling about what they were going to "do" to each other.

Bobby was a friend and all, but a little too awkward to be comfortable singing that kind of shit to him, probably. And anyhow, more gay bashing, kinda. So fucking weird. The song had always just been a joke to him... he'd have to try and like... be more careful or something. Good thing Sam wasn't here in fact, or he'd have to feel bad about the whole southern joke thing too!

"How can they even play that on the radio?" Rogue laughed.

Yes, genuinely laughed.

"Fuck, you guys are crazy," Jean-Paul reached up and ruffled Bobby's hair, almost affectionately. "Now hurry up and get me the fuck home. I need a goddamn cigarette, and no smoking in the BMW."

"Dude," Ray turned around, "hook me up!"

Jean-Paul began digging in his back pocket, drawing a dirty look from his sister, who suddenly found herself with his elbow in her side, but Ray's attention was suddenly caught by the shifting Roberto next to her.

"Um, guys...," the previously silent Brazilian boy suddenly piped up, turning an interesting shade of green. "Um..."

Bobby shot him a nervous look in the rearview as Jeanne-Marie turned to him, fawning over him with a sweet, "Oh no, Berto, are you sick?"

But Bobby, like he'd been reading Ray's mind all along, immediately pulled out the Wayne's World quote-age. Not to mention the mini garbage bag JP apparently kept stashed in the door, which Bobby held over his head, dangling it into the back seat. "Dude... if you're gonna spew... spew into this."

  
  


Amara Aquilla sighed. The night had been fun. Definitely fun. Dancing and laughing and just chilling out with her friends. The chance to dress up and look good and go out on the town. Seeing all the boys all cleaned up and pretty. She didn't even mind being among the four or five sober mutant teenagers heading home tonight. She was happy to be Lance's designated driver. And she was glad that Bobby hadn't wrecked the M5 in front of them, which was, incidentally, spewing really loud industrial rock-sounding music and bass. 

But goddamn, the Brotherhood boys were obnoxious.

She eyed Lance in the rearview mirror, as he tried for about the thousandth time to put his arm around a drunken, obtuse Kitty Pryde. "Knock it _off, _Lance! God, you're like, totally breathing my air!"

"Aw, come on Kit, I just want to be close to you...,"

Amara rolled her eyes. God. How pathetic men were sometimes. Not to mention see-through. She was glad that Kitty had the sense to see Lance's obvious agenda tonight... or at least, the sense to not be interested in having him breathing down her neck. 

"Jesus Christ, Lava Lamp, could you speed it up?! I'dliketogethomesometimethisyear!"

She glared out of the corner of her eyes at Pietro, in the passenger seat just next to her. "Pietro, don't make me fry you. I have fire, and I'm not afraid to use it."

Blessedly, however, Amara could see the Brotherhood Boarding House, not a half mile down the road, so she floored it and had them to the door in no time. "Alright, thanks for flying Aquilla Air. If you had a problem with our service, piss off and die. Brotherhood out, X-Men in!"

Pietro shot her one last glare, and became a sudden gust of wind, as far as she could tell. Either way, he was gone, and the door to the house was hanging wide open. Kitty helped Lance down from the Jeep (or rather, she tumbled out and then watched him do about the same, before crawling back in), and Sam got out and held the door for Wanda. 

"Wait!" Lance was suddenly pressed against Amara's window.

She shook her head, and rolled the window down. "_What_, Alvers?"

"This is my Jeep! You can't take it home!"

"Jean-Paul said he'll bring it back tomorrow morning. We can't stay here."

"I think you should!"

"You think Kitty should. Get your ass inside before I fry you and Pietro both," she told him, rolling the window back up, and almost catching his fingers in the top of it. 

Lance's upper lip curled in a sneer. But surprisingly, he simply staggered away, into the house.

Sam and Wanda were still babbling at each other, quietly now, but the open door on that side let in some of the conversation here and there. "...any time... really sweet of... funny thing... damn tired... stupid brother... didn't know you... smile..."

Amara turned around in her seat and caught Kitty's eyes, grinning. The older girl was covering her mouth to keep from giggling, obviously, and shook her head. Amara mouthed the words, "So cute," to her.

Shadowcat nodded, and removed her hand from her mouth. Her blue eyes looked to the side, quickly then, and Amara noticed that she suddenly couldn't hear anything else coming from the pair outside the Jeep.

She turned to look at them, following Kitty's gaze, and saw them caught in a full-on lip lock. About the cutest lip lock Amara had ever seen, at that. Poor Sam looked like he had no idea what to do with his hands, as he was holding them up, and out to the sides, like he'd been taken by surprise, and Wanda had him by the front of the shirt with both hands. 

Amara looked back to Kitty, grinning hugely over the back of the driver's seat, and the two girls let out a simultaneous "Awwww!"

Wanda let go of Sam with one hand, the hand closest to the car, and held it out like she was offering them something. And then the hand started to glow blue and green in the night.

Amara ducked just as a bolt of blue hex-lightning whizzed over her head, and into the soft top of Lance's Jeep, causing it to ripple and flow for a few seconds before returning to normal. She kept laughing, however, and when she managed to peek back over her seat again, Kitty was covering her mouth once more, eyes bulging in barely-restrained laughter, and Sam was standing outside the Jeep, alone, watching as Wanda closed the door to the house behind her.

"Oh my god, Sam, you totally just made out with Wanda Maximoff!" Amara laughed.

The blonde boy turned around suddenly, grinning stupidly, and scratched at the back of his head. "Aw, we were just goofin' around. Wasn't anythin'."

"You two are totally cute!" Kitty gushed.

Sam staggered the few steps back to the car, closed the door, and situated himself in the back seat, then let out a long sigh and let his head thump against the door as he leaned on it. "Wasn't anythin', Kitty. She was just sayin' thanks for the compliment, was all."

"Must've been a hell of a compliment, considering that you two were stuck together at the lip for about an hour back at the club," Amara told him, starting the car up again and heading back to the Institute. Holy gods, that had been adorable. Really gave her faith in men, honestly. Maybe the Brotherhood boys were asses, but not their X-Men. 

Well, not Sam, anyhow. And Alex, Bobby and Berto were cute enough to make up for their transgressions. And Scott had that sexy in charge thing going. And Ray looked great when his shirt was ripped. And Kurt was all velvety, and those fangs were way sexier than he knew. And Jean-Paul was devastating– gorgeous and off-limits, what a combination. And Jamie... well, Jamie was still young enough to be adorable. Barely. 

"Maybe you could teach Lance about compliments," Kitty suggested, giggling again, as if she'd been reading Amara's mind. "Or about being a nice guy. He was like, totally trying to get on me all night! I mean, he's cute and he's really a good guy, underneath, but like... gross!"

"I dunno, Kit," Sam was smiling next to her, a bit dreamily, "Ah reckon it's a little too late to save some people, don't you?"

  
  


Alex instantly recognized the outfit as the work of Jean-Paul. 

He shot the Canadian speedster a dirty look as he came through the door, and got a smarmy grin in return. 

Jesus. Why'd he have to let Ray borrow _those _pants anyhow? 

"Jean-Paul...," Scott was saying beside him, as various and sundry mutant teenagers began sprawling out in the living room, or heading to the kitchen, some staggering, some singing, all laughing aloud. "Why do I feel like you're somehow responsible for this... and that whatever _this _is, I'm not going to like it?" 

JP came directly to them, where they were standing at the foot of the stairs. Scott had heard the garage open, from where they'd been sitting in the kitchen. He'd been a freak all night, in fact, jumping at every little sound since they'd come home from the movie. Alex had been busted of course, once Scott realized that he was purposely trying to keep him out later than usual, suggesting a movie that started at 11PM, asking for Taco Bell when it was over. But they'd been home almost an hour now, and the house was just a little too dead for Cyclops not to notice that most of his charges had flown the coop.

Too bad really. Alex had kinda wanted to have that little "talk" with his big brother tonight, since they had so much time together. But between the dinner at a hyper-macho sports-bar type restaurant, the movie, where he'd had to keep quiet the whole time, and the aftermath, where Scott had paced around like an angry father for an hour or so, alternately brooding quietly and pumping Alex for information, there really hadn't been much of a chance.

Alex, of course, had pleaded innocent. Claimed that he didn't know a thing about it.

Scott wasn't buying it. And neither was Mr. Logan, when he'd seen him in the hallway about a half hour ago. Lucky for Alex, however, Logan had simply raised an eyebrow at him, growled a little, and headed back to his room.

"Don't worry your pretty head, _mon ami_," Jean-Paul was saying, sauntering up to them like he hadn't a care in the world. His normally ivory pale cheeks had a little more color in them than usual, and those electric eyes were wide awake and flashing. "Everyone is alive and well, and though they may sleep late, they will pull through. The belt is great, by the way."

Scott looked down, at the belt he'd given JP for his birthday, and furrowed his brow. "It is. But that's not the point! Where the hell have you guys _been_? I've been worried sick! You're supposed to be older, Jean-Paul, a responsible role model for these kids...," but he trailed off as he watched Jeanne-Marie helping a surprisingly frail-looking Roberto up the stairs. And hopefully, into bed, where he could sleep it off. Dude looked wrecked. "Oh Jesus, what's wrong with _him_?"

"He's fine," JP shrugged, carelessly, "It's all out of his system now."

"_What _is out of his system? Jean-Paul–,"

But Scott was interrupted by a loud BAMF! and the appearance of one Kurt Wagner, bag of potato chips in hand. "See, JP, I _told _you he would be up and waiting!"

"Kurt, how could you let him–,"

Kurt held up one three-fingered hand and closed his eyes, striking a pose like a statue of a Roman orator. "I don't know what you're talking about, Slim. Surely, you're mistaken. We were at a party all night long."

"Half of you are drunk! What the hell kind of party was that?!" Scott growled, through his teeth.

Wow. Alex had never seen him turn quite that shade of red before. Impressive.

Jean-Paul moved a little closer and put an arm over Scott's shoulders, squeezing him once, "Relax, Summers. Everything is fine, _non_? We're all here, all safe, no worries."

"Where are Amara, Kitty, and Sam then?!"

Jean-Paul raised an eyebrow and made a face that showed just how impressed he was with Scott's ability to take one look at the group and know who was there and who wasn't. "They're on the way. They're dropping off Lance and the Maximoffs."

"Oh my god, you're shitting me. You did _not _take those guys with you too. Jean-Paul I'm going to–,"

"Shhhh," JP put a finger over his own lips and shook his head, squeezing Scott's shoulders again. "No threats. You love me, remember."

"You smell like gin," Scott informed him, wrinkling up his nose. 

Kurt rolled his eyes, still watching next to Alex, "_Mein Gott_, you're fighting a losing battle, Jean-Paul. We should've brought him a few beers, he would've been a lot nicer about this."

"I really hope you didn't drive home...," Big Brother was shaking his head again.

"The popsicle drove, never fear."

"You let _Drake _drive your car?" Scott's anger seemed to drain out of him as surprise smacked him in the back of the head.

"_Oui. _Listen to me, Scott. I wanted to tell you, but they wouldn't let me. I would've liked nothing better than to get you drunk and watch you relax. But circumstances did not allow, we were responsible about it, and everyone is safe and sound–,"

Alex was shaking his head at Jean-Paul's drunken attempt to sound convincing when he felt someone tap his shoulder. He turned around to see Bobby and Ray grinning at him, both holding huge glasses of water and bags of junk food. "Have a good time?" He asked, mildly amused at the looks on their faces. And trying very hard not to stare.

"The best! Here man, I brought you a souvenir!" Ray held out something small and green to him. "Sucks that you couldn't come, but this chick was passing these out so I figured we'd bring you a little piece of the action."

Bobby nodded, "Just so you know we appreciate your sacrifice, my friend."

Alex shook his head and took the plastic thing from his roommate. And started grinning when he saw what it was. "A Heineken bottle opener," on a key chain, no less! Rock! What he was going to do with it, he had no idea, but it was still kinda cool that they'd thought of him. "Great, now all we need is some beer!"

The other two laughed and then Ray started talking again. "Dude, we want to go watch Wayne's World. You in?"

"Yeah," he answered immediately, "Let's watch it in our room. Sam should be here soon, JP said, he'll want to watch. Is Berto gonna make it?"

"Yeah, he'll be ok," Bobby nodded, laughing again, "He yakked outside but he's cool now. Me and Ray are sober, so we said we'd check on him a couple times an hour."

Alex raised an eyebrow, "You two are sober? Damn, who else?"

They looked at each other and grinned, "Amara," Ray answered finally, "And... well, Kurt is sorta sober. I think that's it. That it Bobby?"

Bobby nodded, "That's it."

"Sam is fucked up?" Alex asked, impressed. Wow, didn't expect that...

"And hooking up with Wanda," Bobby covered his mouth and giggled, not unlike a little girl. 

Alex felt his eyes go wide, "You're kidding me! Sam _Guthrie_?" Ok now, that he _really _hadn't expected. Holy shit... that was so weird it... almost made sense, really.

Ray nodded solemnly, "Another one bites the dust, man. Love is in the air. Ok, Alex, lets go get your shit set up. I gotta get out of these clothes," he started pulling at the tight sweater he had on, making a face of disgust at it.

Alex swallowed hard. "Uh... you go ahead and change. I'll be up in a second, I wanna make sure Scott doesn't kill anyone. Or himself."

Ray nodded and gave him a thumbs up, then turned to sprint up the stairs, and Bobby wandered back to the kitchen. Alex let out a long breath, and hung his head for a moment, trying to fight off mental images of Ray running up the stairs like that. And peeling off those clothes. 

When he finally turned around, he saw Scott shaking his head at JP, but looking very defeated. "Alright... fine. But if the Professor, or anyone else, finds out about this, you're taking the fall."

Jean-Paul nodded, "Of course, I wouldn't have it any other way. And next time, you're coming with us."

Scott raised an eyebrow, "Not a chance, flyboy."

Jesus, how did JP do that? Dude could talk his way out of anything. Funny for a guy who normally exhibited as much charm as Magneto. Making friends was clearly not the Canadian X-Man's first priority. 

Jean-Paul smirked at Scott, and then turned his attention to Alex, sharp blue eyes focusing on him and demanding his full attention. The speedster came to his side, and put an arm around his shoulder, then steered him off to the side just a bit, leaving Kurt and Scott to argue some more. "Like the pants?"

"Dude, you're sick," Alex said, smiling so hard his face hurt. Damn, it was nice to have _someone _around who knew...

"I thought you'd like them. Lucky you didn't come, you should've seen him dancing–,"

"I hate you, Jean-Paul," he laughed.

Jean-Paul winked at him, then kissed him on the cheek, with a loud sort of smacking sound.

"Dude, stop flirting with my kid brother!" Scott yelled, from the other side of the foyer.

JP just winked again and headed out the front door, pulling out a pack of cigarettes as he did so. 

Alex shook his head, and turned to go upstairs, assuming Ray would've returned to his normal state of loose, perfectly non-suggestive dress by now, safe in the knowledge that Scott's head wasn't going to explode. 

Of course, he wasn't quite sure about his own head, after that. But hell, he might as well enjoy the ride while it lasted.

Jean-Paul stared up at the night sky, leaning back on the front stoop of the Xavier Institute, watching a small, grey wisp of cloud make its way across the face of the full moon.

And enjoying the next-to-last cigarette in his pack.

He was in a horribly fucking excellent mood. Nights like these, he always felt like he was watching his life from the outside, through someone else's eyes. Like watching a particularly well-shot film, alone in a dark theater, all the important bits captured in still photography in his mind. He could remember all of the sensations, of course. The floor shaking under the soles of his boots with the bass. The lights flashing, reflecting at odd angles, behind his eyes, even when he closed them for a moment. The cold of his Jack and Coke on his tongue, the burn of the bourbon as it slid down his throat, caught him on fire from the inside. The crush of another body against his, the feeling of hands in his hair. The taste of another's mouth, like sweet cocktails and cigarettes.

He could still feel it all, if he thought about it. Snapshots of sensation. But he didn't necessarily recognize them as belonging to him, personally. Could've been anyone's night.

It was hot, drunken, dirty, blissful, confusing, fascinating, sweaty, a million other things, by turns. So many feelings, he'd hardly had time to appreciate them. So many things that had happened. 

Sam Guthrie. The way he leaned over to kiss Wanda, his hands not knowing where to go, eyes shut tight. Funny, he never would've called that one, but now it made sense. Both of them innocent. At least, to those kinds of things. They'd fought each other, beaten Apocalypse, hell saved the whole world before. They were heroes and villains before they were seventeen. But when they looked like that, they were still just kids. That kind of picture wasn't even just pretty, it was beautiful. 

Rogue dancing with them, green eyes lit up, like her heart was on fire. The girl who couldn't be touched, with her arms around someone. It had to be good for her, and he knew it was for him, to see her like that. He really did love her, his first, most trustworthy friend here in Bayville. And he'd never seen her like that before, all that passion, the way she smiled when she relaxed, let herself have fun, stopped thinking she was going to hurt someone-- or, for that matter, that she _wanted _to hurt someone-- and just let herself go. She was a genius, when she looked like that.

Bobby Drake, driving his car. The way that kid laughed, the way he acted out his part, as he and Ray threw insults back and forth to the grind of guitars. A different kind of brilliant. Bobby was the entertainer, the joker, voice cracking and accents changing and music blaring. Really, it was almost sad, in Jean-Paul's present pensive state of mind. No one could be like that all the time, not inside, joking and laughing. There were probably layers to Drake that, if he was very lucky, someone might actually uncover in a decade or so. But god, wasn't he gorgeous when he was laughing like that? What did it feel like, to laugh the way he did? 

Pietro. Jean-Paul had no interest in love, in romance. He never had. He wasn't even sure he was capable of it. But he had an interest in Pietro. In the way he was never afraid to meet his gaze, no matter what it was saying. In his fearlessness. In his silver hair and his hard body and his inviting, evil grin. The world was his, and he was the Lost Boy. He'd never grow up, in some ways. Little silver god, owned the world around him, whether the world knew it or not. Just thinking of his face, of that smirk he had, smug and uncompromising. That was all it took, to make Jean-Paul adore him, really. 

And here, now. Sitting against the wall, taking his last drag. Letting it fill his lungs, and letting it out slowly. Slight chill in the air, smell of autumn decay already all around, fall filling his lungs at the next breath in. Felt good. Smelled good. 

The door opened, and he didn't bother to look and see who was coming outside.

He'd felt her when she put her hand on the doorknob.

"How's Berto?" He asked, as his sister came to sit next to him on the cold concrete, leaning her head on his shoulder. He didn't like the kid dating his sister, but he didn't actually wish him ill. Most of the time. And even then, he didn't wish alcohol poisoning on him. Just a good swift kick in the ass, mostly.

"He's fine now, brother. Watching the movie with the other boys. Did you have a good time."

"I did. And you?"

"Wonderful."

He flicked his cigarette butt into the bushes, and put an arm over her shoulders, pulling her close and leaning his head on hers, just slightly. It always felt so easy, being around her when they were both so calm, so happy. Just like being alone. Only... better, actually.

And that was something he'd never imagined possible. Not in his wildest dreams. "I thought you'd be in bed."

"I don't want to go to bed."

He sat up a bit, and she did too. He watched her face for a moment, that strange feminine echo of what he saw in the mirror every day, and pushed some hair out of her eyes, carefully. She looked dead tired, but she'd done well tonight. Had too much to drink, and still kept running. "No, me neither."

"I know," she smiled at him, sleepily. "I thought you'd be... at the Brotherhood house."

"No. Don't feel like it."

She just looked at him for a moment, but seemed to accept this answer. She felt a bit uneasy, in that little echo of her that was in his mind at the moment.

But he didn't want to think about that, at the moment. About her obvious disapproval of what he was doing. He didn't want to know if it was because she didn't like Pietro, or because she didn't like that he was a boy. Because if it was the latter... no. Not right now. Not when he was feeling so good. Couldn't handle it, at the moment.

"Do you love him?"

Well that was... utterly fucking unexpected. Jean-Paul blinked. And was suddenly very glad he had another cigarette on him. He sat up even straighter now, and pulled out the pack, then the last cigarette, and lit it. "Why would you ask such a thing?"

While waiting for her answer, he inhaled deeply, then let it all out, slow, watching it curl over their heads. 

What a fucking thing to ask.

"Something in your eyes," she looked upward and watched the smoke dissipate, as if fascinated by the wisps and curls of it, "when you look at him."

He shook his head and smiled. Jeanne-Marie was naive. Innocent. She didn't understand, and wouldn't. "No, my sister, it's not love." But he didn't much feel like explaining, so he asked her, "What about you? Do you love your Rober'?"

"No," she answered immediately. "But I love things about him."

He looked over at her, and took another drag from the cigarette. Savoring it. "Like what?" And then, he blew the smoke out, slowly.

"I love when he's happy. When he's running or playing, laughing or dancing. I think it's beautiful," she informed him, almost bashfully.

"Beautiful...," he muttered, not certain if he was agreeing or questioning. Just trying to feel the word out, maybe. Come to grips with it. Wrap his head around what his sister was trying to tell him. He'd used the word himself, not so long ago, talking to her, differentiating it from "pretty." And he'd used it in his head just now, thinking of Sam, Rogue, Bobby, Pietro. But why?

"Beautiful because when he's like that, I can understand him. Or he could understand me. At those times, we think the same. And I think he's beautiful."

He watched her now, as she looked away from him, and up at the moon. In profile, he didn't think she looked much like him at all. Her face was so much more delicate than his. Smaller, sweeter.

Or maybe it was the light. Moonlight plays tricks on the eyes, after all. "That is when something is beautiful? When you... get it?"

She nodded, still looking up, "I think so. When it says something you meant to say. Or even just wish you had. That's what I mean."

He considered this, and nodded, slowly. Thought about the things he'd seen tonight, why he felt they were beautiful. And he had to agree. "You're right, Jeanne-Marie."

His sister looked over at him now, and simply watched him for a moment, thoughtfully. A moment later, she spoke again. "I think you love him, Jean-Paul."

He smiled at her. So sweet. Trusting. Naive. God, don't let her change. Not ever. "No, I don't love him," he forced out, without thinking about it. "I want him. It's different."

"It's ok then? To do... such things with someone you don't love?"

A somewhat sarcastic snort escaped him, that time. "If it wasn't, I'd be out of luck, wouldn't I?"

"You've never been in love?"

"No," he admitted. "Have you?"

"No. But if you never have been, how would you know that you're not right now?"

"How do _you _know?"

"I don't look at Roberto the way you look at Pietro, Jean-Paul." 

He looked away from her now, suddenly uncomfortable with the intensity behind her eyes. He knew it was ridiculous. Those eyes, as electric as they seemed, they were just like his. But somehow, he didn't want to look at them. Not at the moment. "Why do you ask me such questions? Does it matter to you?"

"It does."

"You don't like him anyway."

"_Non_," she admitted, "I don't. I don't trust him. And I don't want you to be hurt."

"He can't hurt me."

"He did before."

He kept smoking now, as an excuse not to answer her. To try and get his bearings. He was still too drunk to be having this conversation, and he knew it. Still too honest. "I wasn't hurt, Jeanne-Marie," he finally answered, after a moment. "I was angry. There is a difference."

She leaned on him now, one arm over his shoulder, her chin resting on her forearm. "You think that no one knows you, brother. But I do. Just... don't get hurt."

"I don't love anyone," he insisted, still not looking at her, his brain entirely frozen up by some strange force. "I never have. I don't know how."

She kissed his cheek, quickly. "I don't believe you."

Finally, he looked over at her. Met those eyes. And knew he was lying. "Just you. That you believe?"

She nodded, "Yes. That I believe."

He looked back up at the sky, and sucked on his cigarette some more.

"Does it hurt, when you say you don't love him?"

He sighed, desperate for her to finally let him change the subject. "No."

"Say it again."

"I don't love him. Jeanne-Marie, please--,"

"Ok, I'll stop. Do you want me to leave?"

"No," he said, without having to think it through. "Stay. It'll be cold soon, too cold to stay out. I want to enjoy the night."

She yawned, suddenly, covering her mouth and looking way from him. "Oh, me too, Jean-Paul. All the others are in bed or watching that movie, though."

"Who needs them?"

She graced him with another smile, and replaced her head on his shoulder, all traces of unease gone again. Just contented sleepiness.

He looked back up at the sky, put his arm around her again and watched it blankly for a while, finishing his last cigarette. Pictures flashing through his mind, and thoughts flying in every direction after them.

In a few minutes, he became aware that Jeanne-Marie was asleep against him. So he took one last deep breath, filling himself with the night air, and picked her up off the ground. Her arms wrapped around his neck trustingly, like a sleeping baby, and he carried her inside, up to her room, and deposited her safely in her bed. A last look convinced him that he should take off her heavy boots, for the sake of her sheets, and then he left her. 

Jeanne-Marie, the little princess. Innocent. Naive in a way that defied all logic, after the hell she'd been through. His sister. The first and only thing he'd ever been certain of, the only thing he'd ever known would be there when he woke every morning, no matter what. They could fight to their hearts' content, but they'd never be alone, now. Even if they wanted to, really.

He couldn't really process it, of course. He'd been having trouble understanding his own feelings all evening. But he knew he'd seen a lot of beautiful things tonight. And he was sure that she topped them all.

  
  
  
  
  


++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

AN: I think that about covers all the bases of a drunken night of debauchery. Dancing, sweating, sex, laughing, staggering, singing, someone puking, and the final "deep" conversation with someone out on the balcony/porch while smoking the end of your pack and losing your buzz. Cheers, all.

  
  


_Relwarc_: Kurt/Wanda seems to be a popular one, due to Nocturne. And the fact that it could work. Wanda is my favorite, in Evo, so I wanted to try something new with her. And I do adore Sam, and think those two would actually be really good for each other. And while Alex's attempts to talk to Scott were thwarted, this time around, I'm sure something like this would be sitting heavily upon our surfer boy. Before long, he really isn't going to be able to keep quiet anymore, I'd imagine. You haven't long to wait (like oh... next chapter, I'm guessing!) Thanks for the really well thought-out reviews, that means a lot to me.

_Akuma no Tsubasa_: Haha well it's pretty obvious what was shocking Kurt. Hell, it'd shock me! In fact, I'm pretty sure it did when it occurred to me... I'm glad that the quick changes in pace aren't too distracting. I love jerking things around like this, and I know damn well that the next one (the third in the unholy trilogy that's planned for these kids) won't allow me to do it, because I'm going back to doing something like "Relativity." Ya know, with a plot, villains, that kind of thing ;) Glad you're enjoying, and thanks for letting me know!

_peanut:_ Yes... hangover... definitely. As for breaking out the hose on Pietro and JP... I can't imagine them being any other way for some reason. Just seems like two speedsters, particularly when one like Pietro, who is infamous for his multiple dates in one night, etc, would be hard to control. Eventually they'll have to have a conversation or two, but you know how it is when you're first starting out with someone. And when it's two 18-year-old boys... *ahem* Anyhow, happy it was entertaining!

_Caliente_: Evil? Yes, it's true. My brother and my ex-roommate (with whom I am good friends, mind you) are convinced that I'm Satan. In yo' FACE Azazel!!! Anyhow, right. Now I'm being random too. I just want to say that that was one of the cutest, funniest reviews in the history of the world. You're a darling. And yes, Comic!Scott can suck it. Evo!Scott (at least when you and I get our hands on him mwahaha-- Your Scott was fantastic and angsty and I loved it!) has potential! Roberto and JM actually isn't my favorite pairing either, if you want the truth. It just seemed like something I HAD to try. They're learning from each other. And I have big plans for her later, to be honest. I'm glad you liked the bit with Rogue. I love Evo!Rogue. She needs to have fun, dammit. And yes, HELLA is a hilarious word. I love it. I say it sometimes, here in the middle of Appalachia, for no reason at all. Just because I find it amusing. I dunno why I assigned it to Alex, but it just seemed to me that it was something he'd pick up on. ;) Go go north Cali (even if I've only been to SoCal... /cry.) And here's a little insider tip for you, to spoil anything but... there is _no _Kurt/Kitty planned. I like the pairing. In fact, one of my fave stories is a Kurt/Kitty by Taekwandodo. But no, that's not where I was going with that. Rest assured.

_Shaman Dani_: Not too much of a cliffhanger! Yeah Alex is a real trooper there, but someone needed tot ake one for the team. /nod. Glad you think Sam and Wanda worked. To be honest, I wasn't sure if I wanted to make something of them, or to leave it as a kind of embarrassing memory thing for them both. But knowing Sam... yeah. Next chapter. 3

_Fata Morgana_: Hahaha JP and Berto really _should _talk things out, but you're so right... JP admitting that he's been wrong about something? Not in this lifetime. Well, at least, not to Roberto ;) Haha! And yay, you posted a new chapter! As soon as I finish this long ass AN, I'm _so _there!

_TKD_: Go Sam! Yeah I've been in Kurt's role a few times, I gotta say. Everyone else is all fucked up and you're just tired and want to go home. I figure that Fuzzy can handle it better than most though, since he's so good-natured. If it were JP or... hell anyone else, they'd be a horrible bitch by then. And yeah, I'm trying to get some personality into Berto, but he's still... well Berto. I dunno. More on that next time!

_S-Star_: The general public, in my experience, generally either stares at, or ignores two guys, two girls, or a guy and a girl nearly going at it on the dance floor. And they say absolutely nothing haha. Every time I've been club/bar-hopping there is always at least ONE couple at it. Personally, I usually laugh. Course, I spent the last three years in a very... _open minded, _let's say, city, so that might have a lot to do with it. As to what I'm smoking... well I'm not about to get myself busted by admitting to that in public like this, so... I'll never tell! (come on over, I got some left...) Thanks for the review, I _really _appreciate it!


	15. Coffee for Two

Coffee for Two

_Wherein love takes over the coffee shop, for better or for worse_

_Telltale Quote: You'd have something to apologize for if you hadn't kissed back.–Wanda Maximoff_

  
  


"Way to freeze up in there, Crash. What were you doing, reading comic books or something?"

Sam froze in his tracks at the sound of the low, sweet voice behind him, not ten steps out of Spanish class. And felt his knees instantly turn to Jell-o, trying to give out underneath him.

But before he could even collect himself, she was beside him. Long red coat trailing behind her as she walked, tight red, low cut shirt and black pants that clung to her like a dream come true. And big black combat boots, that made threatening jingling sounds as she walked down the hallway. Black eyeliner around dark smoke blue eyes, that caught his for just a second. All at once scary, beautiful, mysterious, and undeniably feminine.

She'd called him cute, of course, the other night.

But hell. He sure didn't _feel _cute. Not after spending the entire weekend, not to mention the world's longest Spanish class, wondering what the hell he'd been thinking, kissing a girl right out in public like that. She must think he was awful. It was just... disrespectful. He honestly thought he owed Wanda Maximoff an apology. 

Bobby, Ray, Alex, and Berto had all agreed that an apology was the last thing he should be giving her, however. Instead, according to them, he should be asking her out. On a date. Jean-Paul had even offered to lend him the car, when he'd somehow caught wind of the idea. 

But god. He honestly hadn't thought she'd ever speak to him again. Sure, he'd been having trouble not thinking about her. He remembered every word they'd said to each other. He always had a hard time talking with girls, but Wanda was just so... real. And everything he'd said to her, as stupid and country as it must've sounded to a girl like her... she'd smiled at him for it. Told him he was sweet. Kissed him once, just because he was so sweet, she'd said.

And then kept kissing him. And she had the nicest lips. Full and red, and man, when she smiled...

Sam's stomach flipped over inside of him as he slowed his pace to match hers. He cleared his throat and prayed that his voice wouldn't choose right now to squeak or give out on him. Had a tendency to do that, when he was nervous.

And boy, was he _nervous_. He could feel it, tightness in his throat, churning in his stomach, blood suddenly rushing fast. And his ears burning. Damn them. 

"No," he made himself answer, "Ah was just thinkin' 'bout bein' somewhere else, is all." Although, in truth, he had been thinking about her when Mr. Harrison had called on him in class just a few minutes ago, and he had completely flubbed the answer. Trying to _stop _thinking about her, actually, but apparently helpless against whatever magic spell the Scarlet Witch had cast over him. "That boy beside ya, he's the one with the comics."

"No shit," she rolled her eyes. "If he tries to tell me one more damn thing about Superboy, I'm going to have to hex him."

Sam swallowed hard, and pulled his eyes off of her punk-pretty face, so that he could watch where he was going. As much as he felt like watching her instead, he knew better than to walk down the hall at Bayville High without paying attention. He'd end up flat on his ass and look a right fool, if he started that.

But hell. She was talking... to _him._ He'd seen her at lunch, of course, but he'd been sitting with Bobby, and she was with Jean-Paul and Pietro, as usual. Bobby had told him to go say hi, but hell if he was going over to _that _table. He liked JP and all, but between him and the Maximoffs there was so much intimidation factor, from a high school perspective, that they might as well have been the Horsemen of Apocalypse. So he'd kept away, and told Bobby to keep quiet. 

And anyhow, he hadn't honestly believed that she'd ever notice him again, It was just a stupid drunken hook-up, after all. He should just be happy he'd even had a night like that, really. She wasn't the kind of girl who would ever like someone like him. She was intelligent, street-smart, funny, powerful. Christ on a crutch, she was Magneto's daughter! What would someone like her want with someone like him, anyhow?

But here she was. Talking to him. And she'd started it, just like she had at the club, defying all explanation.

Of course, he knew that he'd never be able to understand a woman like Wanda Maximoff. And knowing that really only added to his fascination with her.

"Ah gotta say, Wanda, if ya hexed him in the middle of class, that'd make a hell of an improvement, entertainment-wise. Ah feel like that class in drainin' mah will ta live, Ah swear."

She gave a short laugh, more of a quick release of air through her nose, and rolled those cobalt eyes again. He stole a quick glance, to watch, and found himself smiling at the familiarity of the expression on her face. "That's for fucking sure. And what the fuck is with that translation he gave us to do? A whole section... I'm going to have to blackmail Pietro into doing it for me."

He wasn't an idiot. He knew this was his chance. If he wanted to...

He _did _want to.

Fuck, no. He didn't! He couldn't...

She was _Wanda Maximoff_.

And he was... just... Sam.

Aw hell. He'd be sorry if he didn't... "Ah dunno, we could probably get it done pretty fast, if ya wanted to try and work on it together sometime."

She looked at him, sideways, for a moment, and didn't say anything. Just shifted her black shoulder bag a bit, and kept walking next to him.

Good god. Sam felt like his ears were about to burst into flame at any moment. _Stupid idiot, what did ya expect? As if she would– _

"Yeah, we should. That'd make it easier."

Sam suddenly released a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding in. He tried not to smile in relief, but knew damn well that he was failing miserably. "Sure would. It's gonna take awhile anyhow, but maybe it'd less painful this way. We could... ah dunno. Go after school sometime?"

Out of the corner of his eye, she saw her looking over at him again. Eyes narrowed, but not in a mean way. Thoughtfully. "Yeah, let's do that, then. But not at my house. I never get anything done there."

He hadn't really thought about it before, even though Wanda had complained to him about her brother a little the other night. But living with Pietro, Lance, Todd, and Freddy really had to be... well, awful for her sometimes. Particularly homework time. Almost made the Institute seem tame, by comparison. Course, Sam always thought the Institute was tame, considering that he used to have to get his schoolwork done in a house full of nine Guthrie children, all younger than him... "Where do ya usually work?"

"Coffee shop," she shrugged, looking down at her feet.

He swallowed hard. "Ah'll buy, if ya wanna go work on it. Sound ok?"

She gave a little half-laugh, but this time without the sarcasm. "Yeah, as long as I get my turn to buy."

"Ah dunno," he said noncommittally, the smile on his face now so wide he knew there was no way he could stop it. But damn... just... damn. Not that it was a _date _or anything. Just homework... but...

Well, damn!

"We'll cross that bridge when we come ta it, how's that sound?"

"You busy today?" She asked.

"Only if it's with you," he said, without thinking. He immediately wished that he hadn't said it, of course, and desperately wanted to smack himself on the forehead. Hard. _Jesus, ya dumb hick..._

But she looked back at him now, shaking her head. And smiling. Genuinely. That rarely seen, red-lipped smile. No teeth, but it got all the way to her eyes.

And he felt himself melt, inside. Mostly his knees and his stomach. But yeah, he was suddenly feeling inexplicably... mushy.

"Then yeah, you're busy. Meet me there at four?"

"You bet," he agreed, trying not to laugh out loud.

Why he felt like laughing, exactly, he wasn't sure. But man if he didn't feel right stupid, at the moment.

  
  


Aurora was still furious.

"JM, wait!" She heard Berto behind her, running after her as she tried to make it out the front door. "Wait, please! JM, I didn't mean it!"

This was _just _like him. All through English lit, she'd fumed over it. Roberto had seen her talking to Aaron Benedict after French class, and had completely flipped out about it. Right there, in the hallway, asked her what the hell she'd been thinking about, talking to that boy. Alex and Ray had been nearby, but she'd gotten so mad so fast, they hadn't even gotten a chance to calm the situation. They just stood and watched as she threw off Berto's hand and stormed away to lit. She hadn't even listened to another word out of her boyfriend's mouth.

Even Lance and Pietro had left her alone, in that class, once she shot them the first Death Glare. She did _not _need to mess with those two today. Not after that. And she hadn't heard a word her teacher had said all through class. She just sat and fumed. This was totally ridiculous. No one was funny enough, cute enough, or entertaining enough to justify this. They were _supposed _to be past this kind of nonsense! She kept saying it over and over in her head until she thought it would explode. Until finally, the bell had rung, and she had headed straight for the door, fighting hard to keep from using her super speed powers in the middle of the hallways. 

She would be flying home today. And for a good three hours afterward, without question. Good Lord, but she needed to get free.

But now, he'd found her, when she was almost out.

And she surprised herself by stopping, on the front stoop, and turning to look back at him.

He was out of breath, obviously having sprinted from his class to catch up to her before she took off. He would know, of course, that she'd make herself scarce for the rest of the day, and he would never see her if she didn't want him to. But here, at school, they all had to keep their powers in check, and he could catch up to her. This was his only chance today, and they both knew it.

She just looked at him for a moment. Flushed from running, puppy dog eyes wide and brown and beautiful. And she sighed.

She hated to admit it, she really did. But perhaps Jean-Paul had a point. She really needed to reconsider her choice of a boyfriend. 

She didn't want to change Roberto, didn't think she could even if she wanted to. But she couldn't deal with this anymore. It was more bad than good, lately. And that was more than she could handle, for him. Not a chance.

"Roberto, please. I'm angry right now, it's not the best time."

He reached out, like he would take her hand, but stopped in mid air. Uncertain. "JM, I'm so sorry. God, I know I said I wouldn't do it again, but everyone knows that guy's been after you since the first day, and I just... look... come with me to get some coffee, ok? You can get your French soda, a strawberry one, just like you like, and I'll get my cappuccino and we can talk..."

For a moment longer, she just stared. Finding it difficult to feel anything, but unable to really walk away from him.

But she did realize that she didn't much want to talk. She just wanted to fly.

Berto's hand fell back to his side, and his eyes to the ground. As if he realized it too.

"Hey...," She heard a reluctant voice behind her. Alex, she knew. "Everything ok? JP was looking for you two, said he was about to leave without you..."

She turned to look at the surfer boy, who was standing next to Ray, not five feet from them, looking at them curiously. And gave them a half-hearted smile. "Yes, we're fine. We're just going to have some coffee. If you see my brother, tell him that, would you?"

And she sighed. She shouldn't do this, she knew. She had no idea why she cared, after as many chances, as many times as they'd been through this. She ought to tell him, right here, right now, that she was done with this. No more forgiving and forgetting.

But when she looked back at him, she remembered why she cared. Roberto was smiling at her, hopefully.

Something in her wanted to be hopeful too. But her heart sank inside of her like a stone, and her eyes started to burn. 

  
  


Alex shook his head at his roommate, "I dunno dude, she was pretty pissed after French. I think he's doomed."

"Na," Ray didn't seem like he was willing to be convinced, "She'll forgive him. She always forgives her brother for being an asshole."

"Blood is thicker than water man," Alex shrugged. He was actually starting to believe Ray's claims that he had no intention of hooking up with JM, simply because the last time it had come up, when Bobby had suggested that Ray was trying to impress Aurora one day, Ray had laughed and talked about how funny it was to watch Berto throw a fit. Followed by a long speech on how a guy and a girl can be good friends and have a good conversation without trying to fuck each other, and why was it such a big deal, and why did society insist that closeness and affection between two people automatically meant they had to be screwing anyhow? 

Apparently, his roommate had an issue with people telling him what he felt. Or what to do, for that matter. Punk rawk, or something like that. Laid back Alex Summers couldn't imagine, but he had to admit, Ray was pretty sexy when he was soliloquizing on the evils of society and the roles it pushes people into. 

As fucking weird as that sounded. 

But Alex had politely changed the subject, before Ray and Bobby had gotten into a first rate cock-swinging match over the issue. Not that they weren't funny when they started their stupid arguments– they were only ever half serious, the only person Ray had ever been known to _really _fight with was Berto, and pretty much everyone fought with Sunspot at one point or another– but Alex just didn't like having bad vibes around him, so he usually took it upon himself to calm them the hell down. 

"JM is no pushover, anyhow," he finished his thought, after only a moment's pause where roughly thirty trains of thought managed to crash inside his head and make one hell of a mess out of his brains. That happened, sometimes, when he thought too much about Ray. Mainly because he was constantly thinking about him, since dude was his goddamn roommate, and all.

"True. Dude, bet we could hitch a ride with JP, since they're not going."

Alex shook his head again, trying to pull himself back into reality still. "Not me, Scott's picking me up, he'll be here in a few. He spent all day with Jean and now we're supposed to get together and share some brother bonding time. For real, not just me sacrificing myself on the altar of his boy-scout-ness to keep you all out of trouble."

_And_, he added silently, _I'm really gonna tell him today. _Straight up, no question about it, gonna tell him. It was getting harder and harder not to, in fact, what with Scott suggesting various possibilities for a homecoming date recently from Jean's list of friends from high school. And anyhow, he wanted Scott and him to be close. Wanted his brother to know him completely, to know who he was, and to not have to hide anything from him. It wasn't in him, this pretending bullshit. And Scott was too important to him to let something stupid like this keep them from being close.

Ray laughed, "Oh man, have fun with that. Dude, I kinda want to go to the coffee shop and see what's up with JM and Berto..."

"What, like spy on them?" Alex chuckled. Hell, maybe dude _did _still have a thing for JM. "You that bored, or just in love?"

The other boy just kept laughing, "Dude, shut the fuck up. No, seriously, I have a metric fuckload of homework, and I don't feel like starting it. And honestly, I'm kinda worried about the drama they'll cause. Between Aurora and Sunspot... that's a lot of temper in one public place. Sure you want to go hang out with Fearless? We could go all MacGuyver on them." 

"A _metric _fuckload. Is that bigger or smaller than the English fuckload?" Alex was still laughing with him. "And yeah, I'm sure. Hey, maybe I'll make him take me for coffee."

Actually, it wasn't a bad idea. Ray kinda had a point about the drama issue. And anyhow, might be something to lighten up the mood, or something else to talk about, if things got too awkward with Scott... 

But Ray was furrowing his brow thoughtfully, "Ah fuck, I dunno. _Would _metric be bigger? Either way, it's a metric fuckload, I assure you..."

"Hey, hey, where's our van?" Bobby came up beside them, wearing some seriously aerodynamic looking purple shades and grinning, as usual. "Let's blow this joint." 

"Alex is ditching us to hang out with big brother," Ray told him, making himself comfortable leaning against the wall where Mr. Logan or Ms. Munroe usually stopped to pick up anyone who didn't already have a ride home. "But check it, JM and Berto are about to go duke it out at the coffee shop, I think. They were fighting today. Alex figures it's the end for them."

"Dude, that's gonna be nuts!" Bobby raised his eyebrows. "'Cause get this, Sam and Wanda will be there. They're _doing homework_," he waggled the eyebrows suggestively now, "after school."

"Whoa dude, this shit is seriously fucked up," Ray commented, running a hand through his spiky hair distractedly.

Alex was sold, at that point. Way too much going on in Bayville tonight for him to want to leave. For once. "That's it, man. Scott's so buying me coffee."

Bobby chewed on his lip for a minute, then said, "I left my algebra book at home, I was using JM's today... but if I went home and grabbed it, I could go there and pretend to be doing my homework or something. Hell, maybe I'd even get something done."

"Dude, I'll go with Bobby to get his book. We'll both turn up there later. Maybe you and Scott will be done bonding by then," Ray shrugged at Alex. 

Somehow, Alex doubted that it would be a short session with his brother. If he actually got up the guts to tell him, this time. But he nodded anyhow. "Yeah man, we'll be there, either way. Just give us some time, and he'll be happy." _Because I really, really need to tell him. Today._

The other two nodded in unison as Scott's red convertible pulled up in front of them. Alex exchanged high fives with his friends and hopped into the front seat, over the door, landing in the bucket seat with a nice bounce. "What's up, bro? Have a nice day with Jean?"

Scott, to his surprise, just shrugged. "Alright, I guess. She was a little weird. I guess things got a little heavy while they were visiting that Worthington guy's holdings this weekend. Kinda brought her down."

Alex pulled the seatbelt down over his chest, and fit it into the slot with a snap. And took a deep breath, trying to calm the sudden bout of nerves that had just hit him. Like a ton of bricks. "Things gonna be ok?"

"Hard to tell, I guess. Where you wanna go anyhow?"

Weird answer, from Scott. Who normally sung Jean's praises to high heaven, even when she was in dreaded Bitch Mode. "Can we get some coffee?" 

"Anything you want, Alex. I'm just happy to have some company that isn't Jean. I feel a little down myself... but don't worry I'm not _angsting_." Scott rolled his eyes, with a slight smile, mocking the world Alex used to describe him when he was in a mood.

"Good man. 'Cause I've been wanting to talk to you about something."

Wanda Maximoff rolled her eyes at herself in the mirror. Jesus. What the hell was she _doing _here?

Deep breath. No problem. Christ, it was only Sam Guthrie. He was harmless. A sweet country boy from Kentucky. A goody-two-shoes X-kid. What the hell was with this... _thing _that had suddenly taken up residence in her stomach and was jumping up and down every time she thought about it?

An alien, or something, felt like. Great. She had an alien baby in her stomach. And it was moshing.

She sighed, and suddenly flicked the water on her hands at the mirror, splattering droplets across her reflection, then turned around. She hadn't been fixing her make up, just trying to collect herself. Wanda put make up on in the morning, mostly to shield herself from the outside world (she somehow felt more comfortable knowing that the face people saw was mostly paint, and not really her,) so she rarely bothered fixing it up to make herself "pretty," the way most girls she knew did.

Of course, "most girls she knew" consisted of Kitty Pryde and Jeanne-Marie Beaubier, really. So that wasn't too surprising.

But the long stare into the mirror and repeated washing of her hands really hadn't done much to calm her the fuck down, unfortunately. 

Sam had been sitting there, when she'd come into the coffee shop, looking down at his Spanish book, chewing the inside of his cheek in deep concentration. She'd stopped, just for a minute, and watched him. Feeling something strange well up inside of her. A strange sensation on her face, in the area of her cheeks.

She was trying to smile, she'd eventually realized. And she had no fucking clue why, but something about that ridiculous hick just made her want to smile.

She'd been fighting it the whole weekend. Telling Lance to fuck off repeatedly when he made fun of her for what had happened at the club. Rolling her eyes at Todd's injured looks. At least Pietro hadn't started on her, miraculously, but maybe he figured that was only fair, since she never gave him shit about JP. Of course, that was probably too much to hope for with Pietro, but for whatever reason, she was grateful that he'd kept his mouth shut about it. She really had made an honest attempt to tell herself it was nothing. Drunken hook up. Sam probably wouldn't even remember all those things he'd said, that had slowly worn down her defensiveness, made her talk to him for hours, dancing or sitting. About what, she couldn't even recall. Too many things to remember. But a lot of things, anyhow. A lot of things no one had ever bothered to ask her about before. And he was just so goddamn...

Sweet.

Wanda didn't know too many sweet boys really. Todd had his moments, she had to admit, but he always fucked it up by doing something stupid or irritating within five minutes. And all the others... Pietro, Lance, Jean-Paul, Freddy... they were either arrogant, jerky, or just plain dumb. Usually all three at once. 

Sam was... different.

And that made her nervous. But it had also made her catch up with him after class today, and it had made her set him up. She'd purposely said something about their homework being killer– which, she justified it by reminding herself, it was– to give him the chance. If he was... interested, then he could suggest that they get together sometime.

And he had, much to her surprise. She had to hand it to him, it must've taken guts. He was shy as all hell.

Another thing that made it so fucking sweet. She really hadn't thought he'd do it. She'd actually expected it to kill this weird... crush, or whatever, when he refused to pick up on her hint.

So much for that idea. 

She shoved the door to the bathroom open, harder than necessary, and strode through the crowded, buzzing coffee shop like she owned the place. _Enough of this girly shit. Just go do your homework, Maximoff_. 

When she reached the table, he looked up at her, smiling that ridiculous lopsided smile of his and scratching at his blonde mop of hair. "Well, ah'm not sure how ya wanna do this, but if we split it down the middle we might be outta here in three hours."

She shook her head and smiled sarcastically, "Great," then sat down across from him at the little table. "I'll take the end, you take the beginning?"

He nodded and picked up his coffee to have a drink. She looked down to her own book, and saw that there was a large paper cup sitting right next to it that hadn't been there before. She looked up at him, and he was staring back down at his book, poking himself in the temple distractedly with his pencil eraser. 

Jesus. Why the hell was that so fucking cute?"

"Thanks for the coffee," she said, picking it up to take a sip. It was perfect, caramel mocha, just like she'd asked for. 

He looked up and grinned at her, "Sure. Ah didn't know if ya wanted whipped cream or not, so ah just said no."

"You said right. I hate that shit in my coffee."

"Yeah, me too," he agreed. "Gets all over mah face, anyhow."

She looked at him askance for a minute, picturing that adorable face with a whipped cream mustache, entirely against her will. And then, also against her will, started to laugh.

His cheeks turned a little pink, but he laughed with her anyhow.

Goddamn this shit was weird. _Calm down, girl. So you made out with him, so what? You were drunk. Doesn't mean anything. He probably just thinks we're here doing our homework, and that's it, and that's all you want anyhow, so don't fucking forget it!_

Right. Not interested at all. Just a stupid minor fixation because he was a good kisser. Had nice lips, really. Just because he could kiss, and he was different from any other guy she'd ever met, that didn't mean she should throw herself at him.

Well, alright. She'd already done that. But not sober, dammit. Fucking Pietro, getting her wrecked...

"Listen," his face suddenly turned a little serious, once they'd stopped laughing, and his eyebrows drew down over his baby blue eyes, "ah wanted to tell ya.... Ah'm real sorry about the other night. Not that it wasn't fun, 'cause it was, and all, but...," he started to struggle for words now, visibly, sentences becoming halting, and his eyes shifted from his book to her repeatedly. Like he was having trouble looking her in the eye while he spoke. "But ah don't want ya ta think that ah'm normally lahk that. Ah didn't mean any... disrespect, nothin' lahk that."

She felt the alien in her stomach start jumping around again, at this halting, strangely charming... what? Apology? So she nodded, slowly, "I'm not normally drunk and stupid either, Sam. But you... you weren't disrespectful. You were very sweet."

"Um... alright. Ah just wanted you ta know, is all. It's kinda been botherin' me, ya know?"

At that she found herself laughing again. Just a little, and very suddenly. Because yes, "I know."

"Rahght... Well ah feel a little better," he smiled again, and managed to meet her eyes steadily, this time. "Ah just... wouldn't feel right, without makin' sure you were... alright with everythin'. Ah had a great time, though."

See, it had to be that accent. Something about that country backwoods fucking accent he was sporting was just completely disarming. Not to mention charming as hell. And it got thicker depending on how much emotion he put into the word, which was pretty cute. And with that angelic face to go with it...

If only they could work on the hair, he'd be perfect, really.

"Don't sweat it, Crash," she said as she suddenly shook herself out of her girlish reverie, feeling a very demanding urge to be businesslike. She was enjoying looking at him entirely too much, and it had been quiet for a good five seconds after he'd spoken. The two of them just staring like idiots. "I was the one who kissed you, anyhow. You'd have something to apologize for if you hadn't kissed back."

This made his smile break free of whatever restraints he'd placed on it previously, and it lit up his entire face. Still crooked, still beguiling as fuck. "Ah never thought of it that way. Alright, so maybe if ah do it ta line twelve, and you go till twenty-four? Then the last line we kin collaborate on, real fast?"

She nodded in reply and looked back down to her book, to begin copying the Spanish onto her own paper. He was right about this probably being a three-hour job. It was _way _too early in the year to expect them to be able to translate anything much...

But what the fuck. Three hours doing this with Sam was eminently preferable to three hours sitting at home being tortured by the boys, that much was for fucking sure.

  
  


Roberto knew that this was not going to be easy.

God, what a fucking idiot he was. After all that time staying calm, he had to go and blow it. But he knew that Benedict guy wanted on JM, he'd known it for two months now, and seeing her leaning on the wall, talking to him like that, laughing...

Shit. He'd thought it was going to make his head explode. Just the _memory _of it made him think his head was going to explode, right now.

At least Jean-Paul hadn't heard about it yet...

No. Know what? _Fuck _Jean-Paul. This had nothing to do with him, and that motherfucker could–

"So what, exactly, did you want to talk about?" Jeanne-Marie cut into his thoughts, staring at him as they walked away from the cash register with their drinks.

No, not Jeanne-Marie. Not quite Aurora in full force either... but this girl beside him was entirely too stand-offish, self-possessed, to be the JM he was used to. Something inside of her had shifted when he'd flipped out, and he knew it. And he had no one to blame but himself.

He stuffed his money into his pocket, and led her to one of the nearby empty tables. "You know what, JM. About today. About what happened."

She didn't answer as they took seats at a table near the window. Instead, she looked around for a bit, and something caught her attention in the far corner. "Sam and Wanda are here."

He turned to look behind him and saw that it was indeed Cannonball. And the Scarlet Witch. Both of them laughing over something, and sipping coffees, leaning in close over the table.

Yeah, he wasn't hallucinating. Wanda Maximoff was laughing. Sam, he laughed all the fucking time. The guy hung out with Drake constantly just so he would never have to _stop _laughing, Berto was pretty sure. But Wanda always looked so...

Fucking pissed. 

She was pretty when she laughed though. In a scary kind of way. And damn, did she look good in a bathing suit.

Well, at least someone was having good luck with the ladies today. He really hadn't expected Sam, as much as he liked the guy, to have the balls to ask Wanda to hang out with him outside of school. Let alone expected a chick like Wanda to go for country-boy Sam. But what the hell. Love did some crazy shit to people.

As he knew, all too well.

But now was the time to fess up, or Berto was going to be _totally_ out of luck in about five minutes. "Jeanne-Marie... I only get upset because I adore you," he said, after they conversed about their friends in the corner for a minute. "The idea of you deciding you'd rather be with someone else... it scares me a lot. And I just lose my temper."

"You don't trust me then," she raised an eyebrow, sipping some of her pink cream soda through her straw. "You don't think I mean it when I say I'm interested in no one but you."

"No, no," he insisted, knowing damn well that he was being led into a trap with that one. He'd been around the block enough to know that trick, and he was being extra careful tonight. "You know that's not what it is. It's _them _I don't trust."

She actually rolled her eyes at him. 

And he felt his stomach drop.

Shit. She was _really _pissed this time. Oh shit, shit, shit. She _never _got sarcastic with him, not even when she was mad. Oh fuck. _Don't panic, don't panic, you didn't lose her yet..._

"Berto, that's ridiculous. It takes two to cheat. Just because someone likes me, doesn't mean I like them. And if I did, I wouldn't be with you. Why is that so difficult for you?"

He could feel his blood speeding up now, because despite his insistence to the contrary, he was, indeed, beginning to panic. "I... I don't know, JM. I'm just... I'm sorry."

She looked at him for just a moment longer, beautiful and so cold. Cold, ice blue eyes. Cold, ivory face. 

And he knew it wasn't enough.

"Me too," she said, finally. "Roberto, we can't do this anymore. It makes me feel bad. Makes me feel like I'm doing something wrong. I can't do this."

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I feel bad too, you know. All the time. With your brother breathing down my neck and threatening to kill me all the time...," he wanted to say that her constant flirting made him feel horrible too. Inadequate and scared. But he couldn't, because he knew that he did the same. And he honestly didn't want to hurt her. Even now. "But I stuck it out with you, JM. You're..."

"I'm what?" She asked, quietly.

He opened his eyes now, feeling a little calmer. But his face was so hot and his throat was so tight, he had to fight to squeeze the words out. "You're perfect."

"Roberto... I'm not. You know I'm not. You said yourself, I make you feel bad. I know you feel bad when you see me talk to other boys, you feel bad knowing that Jean-Paul doesn't like us being together– why would you want to stay with me? We just make each other miserable."

He shook his head, "No, no you know that's not true. We've had so much fun. Remember when we went on that picnic, just you and me, and we took Alex's CD player. Got lost in the woods and spent the day wandering around, looking up at the trees, just being stupid, talking about silly stuff? And when you were working on your paper, and we had all that fun going through the painters and talking about what we liked or hated or whatever? And the other night, at the club..."

She was sighing at him now, and her eyes suddenly looked sad. Not cold anymore. Just sad. "We have fun... but it's not enough, is it? There has to be something more."

Roberto just shook his head again, helplessly, feeling himself caught beneath some kind of landslide, powerless against it. "Yes... yes it is, Jeanne-Marie. We're just kids. I'm only sixteen–,"

Ah fuck. He knew, as soon as he said it, that he'd signed his own death warrant. Basically given her a reason to tell him to fuck off. He wasn't ready for what she wanted. Hell, he didn't even _understand _what she wanted...

"Yes, I know. And I'm eighteen. Berto, it has been really fun, you're right. And you're very beautiful, inside and out. But...,"

He just squeezed his eyes shut again, afraid of the sudden burning in them, and held up his hand. "Don't. Just... don't right now."

Fuck. He should've seen it coming. He sat there, eyes closed, and went through every emotion he had in him.

Anger. This had to be that fucking Jean-Paul's fault. He had poisoned her against him, just because he didn't like him, for whatever goddamn reason. And what the hell was wrong with her, listening to that asshole? Couldn't she think for herself, after all that crap she gave him about being old enough, strong enough to decided who she could talk to, who she could be with...

Betrayal. That fucking Aaron Benedict. That's who it was. He was older, and pretty tough looking. Chicks always liked tattoos. Or Ray! That fucking guy always thought it was so fucking funny when Berto and JM got into it. He'd seen the way Ray and Alex were watching them, when he'd flipped out on her after their class. Probably rubbing his little hands together happily now, waiting for his chance! Hell, maybe Alex too. Or Drake! Jean-Paul loved Bobby, everyone knew it. Thought he was hilarious. She'd probably been told my her stupid twin to date someone like Drake... 

Regret. No. No, it wasn't any of those things. Jesus, nothing like that at all. JM was an honest, intelligent, wonderful girl. Sure, she flirted a lot, but so did he. And she'd never given him any reason to suspect that she would rather be with anyone else, let alone that she would cheat on him. No, it was him, Roberto, who was the bastard here. Always bitching her out for absolutely nothing, all because of that stupid DaCosta temper. He'd gotten out of it too many times, and now he'd finally done it, and he'd lost the perfect girl... 

Sadness. Fuck. This was really it, wasn't it? No talking his way back. He knew there was no one else like Jeanne-Marie Beaubier in the whole world, too. No one as smart, no one as funny, artistic, beautiful, no one as willing to let him be himself as she was. No one who had her way of appreciating the world around her. No one who knew how to have as much fun. No one he wanted to love, not the way he wanted to love her.

Just...

Fuck.

He opened his eyes, and she was looking at him. Sadly. Pretty and wide-eyed, naturally pouting lips angled downward at the corners just so, soft and sympathetic. And he wanted to kiss them. And it hurt, to know that he couldn't. Hurt so fucking bad, he could've sworn his heart was breaking.

"You're saying we're done, right?"

She nodded, slowly. "Fun is fun, Berto. But when the bad starts outweighing the good... it's time to quit."

He sighed again. And had to admit, she had a point. "I never wanted to make you hurt you."

"I never wanted to either. And I never wanted my brother to. But I think we will be better off as friends... if you can be my friend, after this."

He smiled at her, somewhat grudgingly. "Of course I fucking can, JM. I'm not gonna pretend it's not going to bother the hell out of me when I see you with the next guy. Cause it is. I meant what I said, I think you're perfect. But... yeah, it's starting to feel bad more than good. You're right."

She reached across the table and covered his hand with her smaller one. And smiled back. "I'm sorry it didn't work."

He snorted, "Me too. Bet your brother is gonna have a fucking field day over this one. He'll be overjoyed."

Aurora rolled her eyes at him, and started digging in her bag for her books. "Shut up, Roberto, and help me with my ideas for art class. I need to design an album cover."

Berto rolled his eyes right back, trying to look like he wasn't upset. Trying to pretend that he understood what had just happened.

But really, he just felt super fucking empty.

  
  


Things with Jean had been weird, lately. Mostly, he figured it was just the separation. She'd been around most weekends though, and a lot of times she just turned up during the week, since her parents bought her a car for graduation. And she was doing really well in school, working hard, wowing all her professors, just like Scott had known she would.

But lately, even when they were together... something was off. Things didn't seem to click. Like they'd lost whatever it was that had made them so close last year.

She was still an angel to him, of course. Gorgeous, brilliant, all that. And he loved it. Loved her. But when he sat next to her at lunch today... he couldn't think of anything to talk about. The practical jokes at the mansion? No, she was never impressed with that kind of thing. The way JP had pulled the wool over his eyes and gotten everyone drunk in NYC? Oh hell no, she'd have a fit if she found out, and chew him out on top of that for letting it happen. They had talked a bit about the team, who was doing what...

But other than that...

She had talked about classes. Her professors. The kids at school. No one there had made a big deal yet about her association with the X-Men. Thus far, she'd been treated just like any other kid. She'd told him about the weekend they'd had touring some of Warren Worthington's holdings, at his request. Angel had apparently found some dodgy interests in his family's holdings, now that he was taking some responsibility for the empire he would inherit some day. It had been hours of tours, going through files, and researching various anti-mutant interests to check out the ties he feared he'd found between his family's money and certain nefarious bio and tech companies. That was pretty interesting, for awhile, to listen to that, even though it had obviously worn Jean out. But Scott hadn't seen Warren since the Apocalypse mess, and he was more than happy to hear about how and what he was doing.

But it was all stuff that didn't really concern either of _them_. Just... gossip or small talk or stuff about mutant rights. And when they were done with that... they'd just stared at each other.

Something was missing. And he didn't know what. Even more so today than it had been for the past month. He knew when he looked her in the eye that she felt it too. They both had, since she'd left, really.

And it was making him nuts.

But hell, he was here with Alex now, and maybe he could talk it out with him. After all, if you can't confide in your brother, who can you confide in?

He bought their coffee while Alex went to say hi to Sam and Wanda, who were in the corner doing their homework, much to Scott's shock and amazement. He'd never seen the two of them within ten feet of each other before, let alone hanging out. When he found them a table, Alex wandered back over, and Scott noticed that Jeanne-Marie and Roberto were also in the shop, near to the window, and he hadn't even seen them coming in. But the place was crowded with high school and college kids, even a few that Scott recognized from class, so that wasn't too surprising.

As the kid sat down, Scott handed him his coffee and took a sip of his own, the usual Irish Creme. "So, what's with Wanda and Sam?"

Alex grinned from behind his coffee cup. "Apparently they totally hooked up that night when they all went out. Everyone's been bugging him all weekend to ask her out. Looks like he at least worked up the nerve to ask her to study, anyhow. They're translating some hella long Spanish thing right now."

Interesting. He wondered if Sam had any idea what, exactly, he was getting himself into. Not that he could really blame the guy. Wanda was crazy, of course, but she'd been a lot better lately. More in control. And hell, after seeing her in that bathing suit... yeah. Couldn't blame Guthrie at all. "What about them," Scott nodded toward the silent JM and Berto at the window table.

Alex didn't even need to turn around to know who he meant. "Don't ask, man. Berto flipped out in the hall today when he saw her talking to this dude from our French class who's totally into her. Dude is pretty much doomed, I'm thinking, judging from the way she stormed off. He's probably trying to talk his way out of the doghouse."

Scott just shook his head at the strange soap opera machinations of the Xavier Institute. It was inevitable, of course, that things would go this way. Too many hyper-hormonal teens under one roof, and things like this were bound to happen. And, he knew, that wasn't even the half of it. He may not have been the most observant human on the planet, but he'd have to be deaf and blind not to see what was going on with JP and Pietro Maximoff. And while he didn't have a problem with it, personally, despite a strong dislike for Maximoff... thinking about it too much always led to disturbing mental images that tended to haunt him when he saw Jean-Paul in the halls or at dinner. And that was definitely not appetizing.

And then there was his own drama with Jean, of course. And god knew how many other strange pairings and goings on.

Just goes to show, you can make superheroes out of teenagers. But they'll still just be teenagers, at heart. 

"Anything else I should know about?"

Alex suddenly looked down, at the plastic lid on his coffee. And bit at his lip.

Scott leaned back in his chair now. Right. The kid had said he wanted to talk to him about something. "Ok, what's up with you?"

His little brother half laughed, but still wouldn't look up at him. Dammit, he was hiding whatever was wrong, or he'd be looking him in the eye... "I dunno. What's up with you and Jean?"

Alright. He could play this game. "I don't know, to be honest," he put one of his arms over the back of his chair and stretched his legs out in front of him, assuming a nice relaxed position. Let the kid take his time, if he wanted. This time, Scott didn't have his head so far up his own ass that he couldn't see that Alex really had something to talk about. And if he needed to spill to get the kid to, so be it. This could be good for both of them. "Just feels a little... empty lately, you know? Like, today, I couldn't think of things to say to her. We were both so obviously thinking of other shit, even though we were with each other. Felt like we were just going through the motions. It's kinda been like that since she started her life at school, even though she's still really active with the X-Men."

Alex raised his eyebrows, obviously surprised. "Yeah, you said before that you were feeling off. Maybe that was it?"

Scott shrugged, "Possibly. Hard to say, it was a while ago. But it would make sense, if that was it."

"You still in love?"

Scott opened his mouth to answer affirmative... and stopped. Was he in love? "Well... I definitely love her."

"Dude, I love Bobby, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna marry him," Alex pointed out, with a half-grin. "And I'm sure as hell not _in love _with him."

Actually... the kid had something there. And Scott really had no idea what to say to him on that one. "Hell, Alex, I don't know. I love a lot of people too. It's not exactly the same... but I see what you mean."

"Maybe it's just being apart for longer than you're used to," Alex shrugged, taking another drink of his plain dark roast. How the kid drank that shit, Scott had no idea, but at least he never seemed to be affected by the caffeine.

"Maybe," he admitted, suddenly certain of only one thing, when it came to Jean– that he had no fucking idea about anything, at that moment. Everything he heard seemed like as likely an explanation as the next, in fact. "I guess I just need to think about it a little more. What about you man, what's up? Look up at me, don't hide your eyes under that hair."

Alex rolled his dark eyes and blew upward, so that his bangs flew straight up and out of his eyes, then landed neatly to the side where they were meant to be. 

And Scott could see perfectly that something had him worried.

"Alex... what's wrong?" He asked, quiet now. He was suddenly getting the feeling that this was pretty serious, whatever it was. And possibly something he'd missed, something he should've noticed a long time ago. Somehow, he could just tell, when Alex looked at him.

The kid sighed a little, and looked him in the eye, a half-baked smile, almost apologetic, on his face. "Something I've been meaning to talk to you about, bro. For a long time. It's not really that big of a deal or anything, I just... I don't like pretending with you. I mean, we're family, right?"

Scott nodded. Family indeed. The only family he had, in fact. Not to mention someone he considered a pretty good friend. Someone he loved. "Yeah. And you can tell me anything, I mean that. What's wrong?"

"Nothing wrong," Alex shrugged, after another sip of coffee. "I just... I've been thinking a lot lately, and I talked to Jean-Paul about it, a couple of times now, and he's been really cool. I just felt bad, telling him before you. Like I said, it's not a big deal–,"

"Jean-Paul?" Scott was hopelessly confused by the mention of his Canadian teammate and good friend. He knew that JP and Alex got along well, but he hadn't known that they had "talks." Honestly, he wasn't sure how he felt about that, considering how shady JP was when it came to the law or morality. Not that he didn't love the guy, but taking a bunch of under-aged kids to a nightclub and getting them trashed was hardly the kind of behavior he would've hoped for in a mentor for Alex. Or, for that matter, hiding a bag of weed under the asparagus in the freezer at the Institute– a fact that JP had confessed to only long after the evidence had been sped away to some other hiding spot. And whether it was true or not, Scott would never know, but still... shady, man. Totally shady. "Why did you go to him? I mean... you know he's my friend, and I do love the guy, but–"

"Look, Scott, I don't really know how to beat around the bush on this one, man." Alex shook his head, holding up one hand to make him stop talking. "But I'm tired of acting like I'm interested when you bring up possible girls for me to date. I know you're trying to help me out and all, but you're my brother, and I feel like it makes us less close, that I lie to you even a little. And dude... I'm gay."

For a moment, Scott sat still as he felt each of his bodily functions grind painfully to a halt. And then, excruciatingly, they started back up again, chugging along slowly until they returned to normal, and he realized that he had better hurry up and say _something_. God, say _anything_. Because his little brother was staring at him with huge, scared eyes over a cup of coffee, telling him that he liked boys... and fuck, had he really heard that right? "Um... gay?"

Oh shit. _Nice one, Slim... really fucking smooth move..._

Alex seemed to be releasing a really long breath, one he must've been holding for a long time, as he said, "Yeah dude. So um... no more dating advice, unless it's from the other side of the fence, if you don't mind."

He was trying to joke about it, of course. Trying to lighten Scott up. Like it was no big deal.

And it wasn't... Alex was still Alex, his kid brother. Didn't mean that he was any different than he'd always been, than Scott had always _thought _he'd been...

Did it?

He forced a smile, and nodded, "Heh. Yeah, alright then, no more of that. So um... how long have you... known?"

Alex stared down at his coffee cup for a minute now, and it gave Scott a chance to think things through. Ok, think of it like a mission.

What is your goal?

To spend time with your little brother, to get to know him better. To assure him, and yourself, that you have not lost each other, that you are family, that you will always be there for each other. To feel that closeness you haven't felt in years, not until you found him.

What is in your way?

Nothing... right? You love this kid, you missed him for years. Jesus, it had hurt when you thought he was dead. Part of you died with him. And when you saw him again, god, hadn't that been amazing... 

Hell.

"Well, I guess I always kinda knew. I mean, when did you know you liked girls? Look, if you're not cool with this–,"

Scott shook his head, suddenly. _Wake the fuck up, Summers. This is your _brother! "No, man, it's not that. It's just... I didn't expect it, that's all. I thought it was something... I don't know... something else. I never... no man, it's cool."

Alex looked up at him, through his light eyelashes.

And Scott knew that his brother didn't believe him.

But it _was _cool... right?

"Dude, seriously, it's totally cool. Just caught me by surprise, I swear. You know I don't care about shit like that. I mean... Jean-Paul is one of my best friends."

He said the words, but he felt like he was swimming through something as he said them. Not exactly like lying... but something else. Something that made his cheeks burn, like a lie. Something that kind of hurt.

Because yeah, it was one thing to be friends with JP. To joke around and stuff. Knowing that his friend was gay was nothing. But this was Alex. His brother. And it was...

Yeah, ok, it was little weird.

And the kid was still looking at him. Scared.

And he couldn't think of a goddamn thing to say. 

Finally, Alex spoke again, "You're _so _not ok with this, Scott."

"No, man, I am. It's just a little weird, that's all. I'll get used to it. Alex... listen man... I love you, ok?"

Alex leaned back in his chair, and looked down at his coffee. And let his hair fall into his eyes.

"I do. Alex, look at me, please."

Alex looked up, again through his eyelashes. Bangs back in his face, hiding his eyes at least halfway. 

"I love you, ok? Just give me a minute. You caught me by surprise."

And he meant every word of that, at least.

He did love Alex, and it didn't really matter. No question. But... hell, it was just a little weird, was all. The only other person he really _knew _who was gay was JP. And while he was all well and good as a friend... he was hardly the best example. And he wasn't sure if that meant that he didn't want Alex hanging out with JP anymore, now that he knew about this, or if it meant that he personally needed to get to know more gay people, to assure himself that they weren't all like Jean-Paul Beaubier. 

Wait. Wait, wait, wait. Christ, he was just one person. It's not like Northstar represented all mutants in the world (thank god) any more than he represented all gay people, for crying out loud. For the love of god, it's not as if they were a different species. Just a little thing. One personality trait in a list of millions. Jesus, he was being insane about this. No big deal...

_Calm down. Reassure him. For fuck's sake, say _something _intelligent._

"I swear to god, Alex, it doesn't change anything. I'm sorry I got so... weird, ok? Just... I didn't expect it. You know me, I like to be able to see everything coming."

Alex just looked at him for a minute, then reached out for his coffee. But he still had his hair in his eyes. "Yeah, I guess it's a hell of a bomb to drop. JP was surprised too."

"So... you talked to JP, huh?"

Alex raised an eyebrow. "Had to talk to someone, man. Never really admitted it until I talked to him."

That made Scott feel pretty shitty, honestly. And he knew, in retrospect, that Alex had been trying to tell him for damn near a month now. And he'd been too fucking self-involved to notice. "I'm... sorry I wasn't there."

"Looking back, Scott...," Alex chewed at his lip a moment, as if in deep thought, "I think it's good that I talked to Jean-Paul first. He made me feel a lot better, you know? Like, made me think I wasn't such a freak."

That statement hit Scott like a slap in the face. He knew, of course, that Alex hadn't meant to imply the "which you certainly aren't helping with," that Scott heard there anyhow. But damn. He was a horrible brother. And he knew that, however much he was trying not to, he *was* making Alex feel like a freak. 

But Alex was continuing, oblivious to the (deserved) pain he'd just caused, "He's a really nice guy, I know what you see in him now. Well, ok, not a nice guy, but he's cool."

And Scott felt his eyebrows raise in alarm, as a horrible, horrible thought occurred to him. Just the other night, he'd seen JP lean over and kiss his kid brother on the cheek.... Oh no. Fuck no... anything but that... "Um... not to pry or anything, but um... you and Jean-Paul aren't...?"

The surfer kid suddenly burst out laughing, and couldn't answer a few minutes, he was shaking so hard.

Scott just stared, torn between laughing himself, and crying. Because he had no idea what the fuck that meant, and he didn't want to speculate. Oh god, it had been bad enough when he'd thought it had been JP and Pietro... if it was JP and Alex...

"Dude," Alex finally managed, "Just because he's gay and I'm gay, it doesn't mean we want each other."

Scott kept staring for a moment, and then smiled. "Yeah, ok. I know that, man I just... I mean, he kissed you."

Alex just shook his head and kept his eyes hidden. "Dude... he's hot and all, but no thanks."

Scott closed his eyes, and tried to pretend he hadn't heard that.

He loved Alex, alright. But hell. This was going to take some serious getting used to.

  
  


"Mah god, Wanda," Sam was shaking his head. "That only took us an hour!"

Wanda rolled her eyes at him, but was really quite impressed with their teamwork. She had honestly expected his initial three-hour projection to be dead on. "We're fucking brilliant, that's why."

"What a team," he shook his head, as if reading her mind. "Super hella fast."

"Hella?" She raised her eyebrows. What the fuck was that about?

He blushed, but only minimally. "Alex. He says this stuff... ah swear, we all caught on. Dude and man and hella all the goddamn time."

She laughed at him, silently, but it shook her shoulders and stomach.

And felt, to be honest, good. Her coffee was only halfway gone, and getting cold, but she wouldn't mind just sitting here with him and finishing, really. Because despite the fact that she hated her Spanish class, not to mention her Spanish teacher... she was really having a pretty good time doing the homework, tonight. Which was nothing short of miraculous, for her. "I guess it's pretty catchy. We should do this more often, we tore this sucker apart."

He was grinning when she looked up at him quickly (and immediately looked back down, of course), and chewing the inside of his cheek again in that funny way he had before replying, "Yeah, Ah agree. We sure did rip it up. Maybe we should do all our Spanish together."

This time, she looked up at him, and saw him examining his own translation, carefully avoiding her eyes.

And she was halfway glad for it. And halfway wanted him to look up.

To her surprise, he did just that, just as she thought it. And caught her eyes with his. And his grin grew even wider.

"Maybe we should," she forced out, just watching his eyes smile. They had this weird kind of sparkle to them. Quite pretty, really.

Christ, she felt stupid. Staring at him like some kind of love-struck idiot. But he'd kept cracking little jokes, stupid jokes, the whole time they'd been working. And he laughed so easily, and he made her feel so... relaxed. His stupid accent, his ridiculous southern turn of phrase, his farm boy manners, and that idiot grin of his...

Hell. She really did like Sam Guthrie. 

And she felt like a fucking fool for it. She hardly even knew him. But she couldn't help it. He was just so... sweet. 

"Ah think we'd get better grades, if we did, Wanda," he agreed with her, after a moment, looking back down at his paper. "Maybe every Monday we could... ya know, work on our translation for the week. Here."

She nodded, also looking back down at her own paper, feeling utterly stupid for the wash of... girlishness she felt spill over her. Damn. Fucking hick, making her get all choked up. What the hell was _wrong _with her?

And when the _fuck _would that alien stop moshing?!

"Yeah, that sounds like a plan."

"And uh... maybe on Friday we could...," Sam paused there, and she fought an urge to look up at him now, to see what he was thinking. She knew it'd be written all over his face, practically in bold on his forehead. It hadn't taken her long to realize that Sober Sam was not so different from Drunk Sam, who was as honest and guileless as the day was long (as he would've said.) Sober Sam was just a little shyer about coming right out and–,"

"...maybe go see that new movie with the guy from Star Wars in it. For a study break, ya know? Rogue said it was pretty good."

Now, she looked back up at him. And smiled when she met his eyes. He didn't even look away, just grinned at her lopsidedly. Like he had nothing to lose. "Yeah, ok. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, huh?"

He laughed, "The Shining is the best horror movie ever."

She shook her head, impressed that he got the reference. Nice. "You like Kubrick?"

"Hell yeah," he nodded enthusiastically, "We got his complete works, between me an' Bobby. You should come over for one of our marathons."

She shook her head, cursing herself for an idiot once again. Just like she had outside the club, when she'd offered to teach him how to dance, a few days ago. "Yeah, I should. Didn't know you guys had fun at the Institute. Thought you were always in training."

He rolled his eyes skyward, and sighed heavily. "Feels lahk it sometimes. But a bunch a idiots lahk me an' Bobby an' Kurt? Gimme a break. So um... Ah can pick ya up, if ya want?"

"How's eight?" She asked, silently commanding that goddamn alien in her stomach to stop for just one second so she could hold a fucking conversation. 

"Ah'll be there," he smiled again.

The alien, she found, did not wish to comply. But she didn't really care so much anyhow.

Not at the moment.

  
  


Ray came into the coffee shop and looked around, carefully. It had taken fucking forever to get Bobby out of the house, thanks to a phone call from Jubilee, who was apparently coming back to the Institute in a few weeks. Not that he wasn't happy about Jubes coming back, she was a trip, but he was pretty sure that they would've missed anything interesting that was going down at the coffee shop by that time, if it was going to happen tonight. Hell, it was already seven.

The quick look around, as Bobby bought their coffee (his penance for making them late), proved that he was right. Half of the people they'd expected to find here were gone. And only Sam, Berto, and Alex remained, at a window table, all silent and working on various homework assignments. 

Well, he'd just see how long they could keep that shit up, now that he was here!

Bobby handed him a cup of coffee, once he'd paid, and they walked over to the table full of their friends.

"Yo, yo!" Bobby announced to them, as they came up behind Roberto. "Iceman in the hizzouse!"

Alex and Sam both looked up and grinned at them. Ray watched them closely, and saw that Sam looked like a damn fool, and Alex looked like he was forcing it. 

Hrm. Interesting.

"Sorry we're late, Alex," Bobby was explaining, pulling up a chair on the end while Ray took the empty one next to Berto. His favorite person in the whole world. "Hope you didn't suffer too much with big bro, but Jubes called and she's coming back soon!"

Sam looked up, "No kiddin'? Her parents are sendin' her back to us?"

Bobby nodded smugly, "Right on. Apparently her powers are screwing up or something. I think she's doing it on purpose, to get them to send her back, but they've been talking to Xavier and he convinced them that shit is ok here now."

"Well doesn't that just beat all," Sam was shaking his head and scratching at it. "That's great news."

"Yeah," Ray cut in, "but the important thing here is... did you score or not dude?"

Sam just grinned, "In a way, ah guess."

"They're going out on Friday night," Alex elbowed Sam, and grinned at him.

"No shit!" Ray gave his friend a thumbs up across the table, and turned his attention to the moping Brazilian to his right. And couldn't resist asking, "Did you make it out alive, Berto?"

Honestly, he had no idea what kind of perverse thing in him reacted so badly to Roberto DaCosta. But he hated that whole rich cover boy act, and figured that Berto pretty much represented The Man. And he acted like they should all bow down to that. And Ray, for one, got a charge out of irritating the guy, just because. Normally he wasn't all that argumentative, tending to accept whatever people did as their own thing (until they fucked with him, of course, and then better be-fucking-ware.) But Berto had rubbed him the wrong way, right from the beginning. 

Sunspot shot him a sideways glare, and remained silent.

"I'll take that as a no," Bobby shook his head, sympathetically. "Sorry, man. But you'll have your day yet, my friend."

"Yeah," Alex threw in, brightly, "and at least you don't have to worry about JP trying to kill you."

Berto rolled his eyes, and finally looked up from his math homework. "I suppose I should be happy about that."

Bobby shrugged, "JP trying to kill you is scary. This one time, he had me on the ground giving me dot-dots, and _man _did it suck. He's tough!"

"He loves you guys," Berto sulked, dropping his pencil as if it had disgusted him and leaning his chin on one hand. "If any one of you had been dating JM, he wouldn't have ruined it for you. He just hates me."

Ray had to admit, Berto was right. He knew damn well that JP hated the Brazilian Wonder. Everyone knew, in fact. None of the other New Mutants had any trouble with the older boy, despite his infamous temper. Sure, they were all scared of him, really, but JP seemed to actually _like _Bobby and Sam, sometimes. And he'd helped Ray out big time with the whole dressing for the club thing– not to mention offering to buy beer this weekend for him and Alex, and whoever else didn't get to get fucked up last weekend. And that was pretty fucking cool. And JP and Alex had been getting pretty buddy-buddy lately too, staying up talking till 1AM, whatever the hell that was about. Sure, JP was a bitch. But he had only really made an _enemy _of one person in the house– the guy who was dating his sister.

"Eh, don't worry," he found himself saying, despite his strong dislike for Roberto. The kid was a fuckwit and a showoff. And he treated JM like hell, which was really the thing that pissed Ray off the most, and probably JP too. She was a fucking cool girl, and deserved a lot better. But hell... losing someone like that was a real pisser. "Other fish in the sea."

Berto looked at him sideways again, and seemed ready to mouth off, for just a moment. But instead, he only sighed. "Yeah, I guess. Just... not many like her, is all."

Bobby shrugged again, "Well, that's true. We've all had a crush on JM at one point or another, huh?"

Ray nodded. He had, when she'd first come. Jesus, _both _of the Beaubiers were fucking gorgeous, hard not to notice. He'd gotten over it, of course, once he realized that not only was she heinously unstable, but she was also way too girly for his tastes. Talk about high maintenance. No thanks. As a friend, she was brilliant. Easy to talk to and really insightful. As a girlfriend, she'd be a fucking nightmare.

"That's kinda not what I wanted to hear, Drake," Berto sighed, as if he'd utterly given up.

Weird, coming from DaCosta. Normally he would've been charged up and ready to rumble by now. 

Or maybe that was only when Ray said shit like that, that Roberto wanted to fight. He knew that Berto liked him about as much as he liked Berto. And took a sick kind of pleasure in it usually.

But hell, dude had obviously had a rough night. "You'll bounce back in no time," he gave the Brazilian boy a pat on the back. "I know I gave you shit when you were dating her, but I didn't mean anything by it. I just like fucking with you. We all feel your pain, dude."

"We do, and as your suite-mate, I must say that I will be more than happy to lend you a shoulder to cry on, or to crack bad jokes until you finally stop looking so goddamn pathetic," Bobby nodded, authoritatively. "However, if you don't mind, I'd like to give my other roommate a little high five action, because he is going out with one of the hottest chicks I've ever had the pleasure to see in a bikini this Friday." And he leaned across the table, reaching out to his friend over Alex's open book.

Sam flushed a little, and smacked Bobby's hand, then grabbed it and shook it before letting go, in their typical best-friend handshake. "Thanks, man. Couldn't have done it without ya."

"Sam, you're such a badass," Ray shook his head. "I honestly never thought you'd have the balls to do it."

"Shouldn't underestimate him," Bobby nodded sagely. "And seriously, the man is a chivalric genius. Did you _see _him working it at the club? All gentleman-like. Chicks dig that shit."

Sam just laughed, and looked back down at his notebook, "Just bein' honest with her, Bobby. Chicks dig that too, ah guess."

"Pshaw!" Iceman practically giggled, taking a sip of his coffee. "Where the hell did the girls get to anyhow?"

"Scott took them home. We still had work to do, so we decided to hang out," Alex offered.

From the look on Berto's face, Ray figured it was more an issue of Sunspot wanting to stay and pout, and his mates Havok and Cannonball not wanting to leave him here alone in his misery. Which was pretty cool, really.

As much as he liked fighting with Berto on occasion... that was one of the coolest things about Xavier's. Kinda like a family. All of them. Berto was like the younger brother who annoyed the shit out of him, Bobby was like the brother who made everyone laugh and cool off when things got tough, Sam was the level-headed one who was perpetually good-natured and quick thinking, like the big brother, really, and Alex was the cool one who lent a chilled out vibe to the whole scene. And Ray knew all too well that his own role was the hot-headed punk, most of the time (which, he realized, was probably why he and Alex never fought– they pretty much canceled each others' extremes out.) But they all knew that he had their backs. And they all had his. Even worked like that in the Danger Room.

Seriously, he liked that though, the family thing. Was something new, anyhow, for him.

But speaking of family and Scott, "How'd the brotherly bonding go?" Ray put his hand over Alex's book, across the table from him, so that his roommate had to stop reading and answer the question. 

Alex looked up without moving his head, through golden eyelashes, and raised one eyebrow. "Alright, I guess. We're both still alive."

This confused Ray. He'd never seen the Summers boys fight. At all. Ever. So what the fuck could that mean? "Dude, what's that about?"

"Forget it," Alex shook his head, smiling.

Ray couldn't help but notice that the smile was kinda forced. And Alex was hiding his eyes behind his hair. He always did that stupid shit when he didn't want someone to know what he was thinking. You don't live with someone for almost six months and miss that kind of shit.

"Dude...?"

Alex shook his head once, while Bobby started regaling the table with some other tale of gossip from the mansion, in one of his usual attempts to lighten the mood of his friends when they all seemed a little too down for his tastes. 

But Ray wasn't really listening. He narrowed his eyes at his roommate, across the table, genuinely worried now. Sure, Berto was wrecked too, but fuck that guy. And anyhow, it as obvious what his problem was. He'd just been dumped, hardcore. Alex, on the other hand, was actually his friend, and this was _not _the Alex he knew and loved. Happy, grinning, surfer-lingo spewing Alex.

Alex, who had spent the night talking to his brother. He really shouldn't be looking just as upset as Roberto, from that...

But Ray let it drop, for the moment. And for the next hour everyone worked hard to lighten Berto's foul mood, and had fairly decent success. Ray was pretty sure he'd be back to hitting on Amara and Kitty non-stop within the week, really. 

But eventually, everyone started getting ready to go, and Alex spoke up, "Look guys, I think I'm gonna stay. I have a lot to do, and I have my cell on me. I'll just call JP to come get me, since it's kinda far to walk on my own. He won't mind."

JP? Oh man. If dude would rather call Jean-Paul than Scott for a ride, there _had _to be something wrong. Sure, JP was cool. But he was still a complete bitch, and Ray _knew _he'd mind if they all started expecting him to cart them around everywhere...

But Bobby was looking at Alex like he was speaking Chinese, and beat him to the punch. "Are you fucking kidding? Dude, just come back now, that's insane."

"No, really, I have a lot to do. I'll never get it done at home," the surfer-boy insisted, with yet another forced smile. "It's cool, dude, just go ahead. I'll be home by ten, or Scott will come hunting for me. I swear. I really need to get this done, or it'll pile up and be eating away at my soul by Thursday night."

Sam put a hand on Alex's shoulder, and Ray could see the concern on his face plainly. Sam had also apparently been noticing that something was not quite right with their resident beach bum, despite his own success this evening. Which, of course, was just like Sam. "Ya sure, Alex? Ah hate ta leave ya here..."

"Beat it," Alex laughed, looking at each of them in turn. "I'm cool. Hell, if anyone jumps me, I got ye olde blasters to fend them off, right?"

This caused a round of laughter, and everyone continued packing up to leave.

But Ray held still. Hell, Bobby and Sam could take care of Berto– he was their roommate. But Alex was his, and he wasn't about to leave dude here by himself when he was so obviously fucked up over something. "Yeah, I'll hang here with Alex," he said. "I want more coffee anyhow, or I'll never get this bio done. And it's totally fucking with me, can you help me out with those Punnet Squares?"

Alex looked up at him, through his bangs, and just stared at him for a minute. As if considering something deeply.

Which made Ray wonder if maybe he'd been wrong. Maybe Alex really just needed to be alone...

"Yeah," Alex said, just as he was wondering if he should change his mind and go with the others. "Yeah, I can help. I'm good with genetics."

Bobby shrugged. "Whatever. If you're not back in two hours, we're calling out the Professor.

Another laugh, and much shuffling of papers and coffee cups, but the three boys eventually left. Ray watched them walking down the street outside, Bobby with his arm around Roberto, talking with his other hand and obviously telling some kind of bad joke, and Sam with his hands stuffed in his pockets, smiling to himself stupidly.

So Ray finally had his chance to ask, "What the fuck happened?"

Alex closed his book, and covered his face with his hands, "Just a tough conversation, is all."

Ray considered this for a moment. And considered whether or not he really wanted to dig any deeper, whether or not it was acceptable. Ray didn't like people prying into his past, or his personal life. It was his own business, and everyone else could fuck off. So he generally held to that in dealing with others. Sure, he'd joke around with JM about Berto, shit like that, but if someone made it clear that they didn't want to talk, far be it from him to push them. Fuck that. 

But this just might be a special circumstance. Not only was dude his roommate, but he was also one of the three people Ray would consider coming to with any kind of problem or issue he had, if there were every something he couldn't handle on his own, at the Institute. Jeanne-Marie, because she was such a good listener, and had a nice way with words that was pretty disarming, Mr. Logan, because he had a quick, no-nonsense answer for everything, and Alex, because he was as non-judgmental as Ray was, about most issues, and generally just a chill guy.

Which, he kinda figured, sort of obligated him to try and sort Alex out, right?

"What kind of conversation?"

Alex shook his head, face still in hands, "Oh god man, don't even fucking ask. You don't wanna know."

"I do," he insisted, now that his decision was made, taking the last drink of his coffee. "Hell, dude, I'll go buy you another drink if you give up the goods. You're fucking freaking out right now, and Sam saw it too."

Alex looked out from between his hands, "What are you talking about?"

"Dude," Ray laughed, "You're hiding behind your hair, and playing fucking peek-a-boo. Just tell me what he said to you to freak you out."

His roommate shook his head and dropped his hands down to the table. He blew his long blonde hair out of his eyes, like he always did when he was annoyed by it, and looked Ray straight in the eye. "Better?"

Ray nodded, "Yeah, now spill it."

"I told him that I'm gay."

Hrm, interesting. Hadn't seen that one coming. Some fucking friend he was, huh, living with him for six months and not even knowing that! But it made sense, really. Alex was pretty much the only one who hadn't been mad for JM when she'd first come along. And he was all chill, laid back, liberal and shit. And quiet, when it came to girls or sex or whatever. Never made jokes the way the other guys did. Made sense, that he'd keep quiet, if he was holding back something like that for so fucking long. "He flip?"

Alex raised an eyebrow at him.

"Is that a yes?"

"Dude... I'm your roommate. I just told you I'm gay."

Ray raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Yeah, no shit, I was there when it happened. Like I give a fuck. Think I've never kissed a guy?" Sure, he'd never done anything more than kiss anyone of his own sex, and he was definitely into girls, but whatever. Honestly, if he was ever seriously attracted to a guy, he'd totally go for it. Big fucking deal. All the same, to him. Who was he to judge? Who was anyone? 

Punk rock, or something. Damn The Man and his categories.

Alex's Adam's apple moved up and down fast, as he swallowed, and he nodded, "Yeah dude, that's pretty much what I thought."

"Fuck your labels dude! You don't know me!" Ray pointed at him, then grinned, just in case the other boy wasn't sure it was a joke. Which it was.

Having heard this a few times from his roommate, Alex shook his head and laughed, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Damn The Man."

"I take it back," Ray crossed his arms over his chest, still grinning, "You _do _know me." Well enough to follow his train of thought, anyhow. Funny though, how the more he talked to his classmates at Xavier's this year, the more he realized just how little any of them actually knew about him. Of course, that was his fault, and he was ok with it. But still, Christ. "So Scott didn't like it much?"

"He tried, and he was pretty cool," Alex had obviously moved past his (mildly insulting, really) fear that Ray would have a fit about him being gay, and was now seemingly prepared to fess up. "But his face... I dunno man. He didn't look happy, is all I know." 

"Give him time dude. He'll get over it. Scott loves you, man, he wanted you here like... forever. Everyone knew it. Don't worry. He knows you're both lucky to have each other, to have family."

Alex's brow furrowed, and he bit at his lip for a minute. "You don't talk about your family."

"I don't have a family," Ray answered, quickly. Normally, he wouldn't have said it. He hated when people bitched and moaned, and he knew that he was lucky to be alive, really. So he wasn't about to start complaining about his hard fucking knock life. But Alex had just given up a secret, so now he would give one. That was the way it worked, after all. "But dude, he's gonna be fine with it. And if not... fuck him."

"Ray... he's my brother. I can't just say fuck him."

"Alex, Scott is The Man. If he's keeping you down, fuck it. Seriously, dude is a _mutant_, for Christ's sake. Ask him how he'd feel if he came to you and told you that, and you were all weird about it."

Alex seemed to be considering this carefully, and silently nodded after just a moment.

"But," Ray decided that was enough seriousness for the moment, "that's not the important issue. The important issue is how the fuck I've lived with you for six months and never found this out. How long you been hiding this?"

Alex looked down now, as if he suddenly didn't want to meet his eyes anymore. "Since I was like... twelve or something?"

"You asshole," Ray snorted. "That what you and JP are having pow-wows about?"

Alex nodded, "Just the first time. Most of the time we're just bullshitting, but yeah, we talked about it. That predictable?"

"Oh yeah. Look, you want some more coffee? I don't feel like going back home and dealing with pathetic broken-hearted Roberto, and JM will be in a hell of a mood. And I need to deal with this bio shit. I'm buying."

"No, I got it. What are you drinking?" Alex stood up, now smiling, even if it wasn't his usual outright grin.

"Alright, but I got the beer this weekend."

His roommate raised an eyebrow, digging in his back pocket for money. "We're getting beer?"

You didn't think I'd bring you a bottle opener without expecting you to use it, did you? JP said he'd buy for me, and I believe his exact words were _only if you share it with Alex._"

Alex laughed aloud, and covered his face with his hand again. "Fuck. That guy..."

Ray shrugged, "He said he felt bad that you had to stay behind this weekend. I said I wanted beer, he said to let you in on it and he'd take his fake and buy for us. I figure you, me, Bobby, Sam, Amara... hell, maybe even Berto, if he can chill the fuck out for a few. We can have us a drinking game to Clerks or Mallrats or something."

Alex kept laughing, inexplicably. "Count me in man. What you drinking?"

"House," Ray told him, deciding it was better not to ask what, exactly, was so funny about JP offering to buy for them. Funny, how everyone who was friends with Jean-Paul seemed to have some sort of weird inside joke with the guy. He figured this was just JP's and Alex's little secret, then.

Whatever. As long as Alex was laughing, that meant he was ok. And that was really about all Ray could hope for. Mission accomplished, roommate rescued from despair. 

  
  


From the Diary of Jeanne-Marie Beaubier, October 23

  


_Dear Diary, _

_ Today was, in short, a hell of a day. And I mean that in the worst possible way._

_ First, Roberto was horrible in school. I cannot believe that he behaved like that, right in the middle of the hall, telling me who I should and should not be talking to. It honestly felt good to walk away from him like that. I tried to escape him after school as well, but he caught up to me. We had coffee. And I told him it had to end._

_ It felt horrible, by then, of course. I've never felt something so awful, knowing that I was hurting someone I care for so much. But it has gone too far. Last time, I let it go too quickly. And all the times before. But he will never understand how it makes me feel to hear his accusations. And I will never understand his jealousy. He says it's not me, it's the boys he doesn't trust. Which is boy-speak for "I don't trust you."_

_ Roberto was my first boyfriend. I was with him because he was beautiful to me. He was sweet and charming. I recognized something in him, something that loved to be free, something beautiful._

_ But in a way, dating someone for those reasons... you might as well date a painting. I suppose we have both learned much, however. And that means our time was not wasted._

_ Jean-Paul knew, of course, the moment I came home, and he was smiling at me. Bobby and Ray had apparently told him that Berto and I had fought. But I knew he was feeling smug, he didn't even bother to hide it from me. He has never liked Roberto dating me, never trusted his intentions. He did, to his credit, hug me first thing, and make sure I was alright with the way things had happened. But I pulled away quickly, because I only wanted to be alone, and I could feel that he was happy. And I didn't want to feel that from him._

_ He felt me close myself off, after that, and got angry with me, told me I shouldn't waste my time being upset over someone like Roberto. Jean-Paul said that Berto didn't care about me, only about himself, and that he was glad I was free of that "narcissistic prick."_

_ I took the opportunity to inform my dear brother, at that point, that he would know all about narcissistic pricks. Not only is he one himself, but he's also sleeping with one. _

_ Needless to say, it did not go over well._

_ Perhaps the name-calling was a bit much, on my part. But perhaps he should either support me, or stay out my business. It was awful of him to treat Berto the way he did, no matter how the boy upset me at times. Just because Jean-Paul does not approve of someone, it doesn't give him license to terrorize them. Yes, Roberto's intentions may have been suspect, perhaps he was not wrong about everything. But he was not completely right, either. And if my brother continues to behave this way, when and if I find someone else, we _will _have yet another discussion. And next time, I might not be so nice._

_ If it weren't for the news of Sam and Wanda's date this Friday, I really think I would be in tears right now, just from the emotional exhaustion of the day. Scott drove us girls back from the coffee shop, where half the mansion ended up tonight, by chance, while the boys stayed with Roberto. I begged her to tell me what was going on with them, while Scott sat in front, dutifully pretending not to listen. Wanda rolled her eyes at me and told me that they were doing homework. I asked her why her hand had brushed against his like that just before she'd left the shop with us, if that was so, and she narrowed her eyes at me in typical Scarlet Witch fashion. _

_ She's really so beautiful when she's angry. Or when she shows any emotion, for that matter. _

_ But eventually, I got her to confess that they will be going to the movies on Friday. She told me that if any of the Brotherhood found out, she would personally hex me into oblivion. I decided not to tell her that Jean-Paul had been so excited to see her and Sam together at the club the other night that he's been prompting Sam to do something about it ever since. And if Jean-Paul knows, that generally means that Pietro knows. _

_ I wish them the very best, and will pray for Wanda. Pray that her brother isn't as hard-headed and rude as mine is about her dating someone. I realize that the chances of Pietro not being a narcissistic prick are slim to non– far worse than Jean-Paul's chances. But I can always hope, for her sake._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

AN: I'm feeling mushy. What can I say.

  


_Risty_: Sorry to drag it out, but there it was! Not _quite _resolved, but close enough. Glad you liked the Beaubier conversation-- that was my favorite part too.

_Angharad: _Glad you liked that! I must admit, almost all of it was stuff that I took directly from my own outings to clubs. Not all of it but... yeah. And there it is. Alex and Scott got to "talk!"

_TKD: _About the whole Alex/Ray thing... I guess I made it pretty clear here that Ray, while being liberal as hell, pretty much only thinks of Alex as a friend. But hell, who am I to say what's going to happen. They own me, I don't own them. You know how it goes. And yeah, JP is pretty much in denial, and JM was being shallow. I was shallow about my first boyfriend too, I gotta say. I was 14, he was older, cute, and on the swim team with me so I knew what he looked like in a bathing suit. ;)

_Akuma no Tsubasa: _You're so right, it would've been effing hilarious if Scott walked into the club. I'm pretty sure this is there are going to be two more after this one. One that's a lot of JP/Pietro (not smut, just them), and then another one. There will likely be a companion to this one, that has the extra stuff that doesn't really fit in (a shopping trip, a date or two, maybe even an Alex chapter, since that particular storyline has been much better recieved than I expected.) And definitely a big long monster of a sequel with bad guys and all. Thanks for the faithful reviews, it means so much to me.

_Caliente: _Sorry about the Draco reference! I like Scott and JP being friends too, I don't know why. Maybe cause I know it could never happen in 616. That's the beauty of Evo. And yay! Hella! I liked the thing with Scott saying not to flirt with his brother. Cracks me up. 

_peanutbaby: _Hahaha. I'm glad you caught that! Thanks so much. I dunno if its bad or good that I write drunk well... maybe I have a problem... ;)

_S-Star: _Yay you liked the Beaubier conversation! That was the part I wanted to do the most, oddly enough. And here you go, Sam/Wanda. I totally love them for some reason. They're just cute.

_Krac_: Hey nice to see ya again! Another Samosa fan, wuwu! Yeah Alex and Ray _would _be fun to watch ;)

_Shaman Dani: _I am also being particularly romantic, of late. Issues, I guess. Glad you enjoyed!

_The Rogue Witch: _Nice to see you again too! I liked the religious chapter too, for some reason. And I liked the shifting of gears so fast. I'm sick like that. Smut-Religion-Drunk-Love. The last two weren't such a shift, but you know ;) And yay! It was a good squeak! 

  


3 -Beaubier-

*runs off to work*


	16. Le Morte d'Pietro

AN: Lots of references to a particular book of Arthurian legend are soon to come. Most of you will be familiar enough with the tale to follow. If you've ever seen _Excalibur, Camelot, _or even the dreadful _First Knight_, or read any number of books on the subject, what follows immediately will not be necessary. For those of you who are totally unfamiliar with the tale, however, let me present...

Idiot's Guide to _Le Morte d'Arthur_ by Sir Thomas Malory

Or, when Pietro gets a hold of it, _Le Morte d'Pietro_

_Characters:_

King Arthur: King of England, husband to *Guenevere, friend to *Lancelot, Uncle to *Gawain, *Agravaine, *Gaheris, and *Gareth, father of *Mordred (Played by _Pietro_)

Sir Mordred: Illegitimate son of *Arthur and his half-sister, friend to *Agravaine (Played by _Todd_)

Queen Guenevere: Queen of England, wife to *Arthur, lover of *Lancelot (Played by _Rogue_)

Sir Lancelot: Greatest knight in England, son of a French king, Friend to *Arthur, lover of *Guenevere, Mentor to *Gareth (Played by _Jean-Paul_)

Sir Bors: Cousin and friend to *Lancelot (Played by _Jeanne-Marie_)

Sir Gawain: Prince of Orkney, nephew and friend to *Arthur, Oldest brother of *Agravaine, *Gaheris, and *Gareth (Played by _Scott_)

Sir Agravaine: Nephew to *Arthur, 2nd brother of *Gawain, *Gaheris, and *Gareth, friend to *Mordred (Played by _Lance_)

Sir Gaheris: Nephew to *Arthur, 3rd brother of *Gawain, *Agravaine, and *Gareth, Friend to *Lancelot (Played by _Wanda_)

Sir Gareth: Nephew to *Arthur, youngest brother of *Gawain, *Agravaine, and *Gaheris. *Lancelot is his mentor/living god (Played by _Alex_)

_The Story (only read this if you have NO CLUE about Arthurian legend, but are still going to read this story):_

Arthur was the greatest King England had ever seen. His queen, Guenevere, fell in love with his greatest knight and right hand man, Sir Lancelot. Lancelot was a good knight, had lots of great adventures, and loved the fellowship of the Round Table, but eventually, after rescuing the queen (he did that a lot,) he finally ended up sleeping with her. Mind you, lots of other things are going on at the time, but that's enough for now. Arthur figured it was going on, but he couldn't stand to expose them. He was a bit too nice about it, you might say. And everything was perfect in Camelot, so why would stir up trouble? However, his bastard son Mordred and his nephew Agravaine finally forced him to take notice one day, publicly. The queen and Lancelot were caught in her chamber together by the two conspirators, along with several other knights and witnesses, and Lancelot refused arrest, escaping and leaving the queen there with them, at her own request. This left A! rthur with two choices– Forgive his queen and break his own laws, thereby proving that they meant nothing, or burn his queen and uphold the law. Adultery against the king, after all, is treason. He chose the latter, having no other choice, assuming that Lancelot would come to save her, but not knowing what else to do. Lancelot did not disappoint, he came rushing in with his kinsmen and mowed down Arthur's men, stealing the queen away to his own castle at Joyous Gard. In the process, Lancelot himself killed two of Arthur's knights who were very close to Lancelot personally, the king's nephews Gaheris and Gareth. The young brothers had refused to bear arms against him, and went without helmets or armor to the burning, because they loved him so much, but Arthur had requested their presence there. Their oldest brother, Gawain, had the will power to refuse their uncle the king, and wasn't there at all. Gawain was originally opposed to the idea ! of war with Lancelot, but when he found out that his two gentle brothers had been killed by Lancelot, albeit by accident in the heat of battle, he insisted that Arthur sweep in and wipe Lancelot and his faction out entirely, reclaim the queen, and kill the French knight in the process. Arthur was in too deep to say no, and was swept along with his kinsman. Mordred declared himself king, and eventually Arthur found himself at war with his son, rather than with Lancelot and Guenevere, who both entered religious orders, and spent none of their "free" time together. At one point, they finally managed to negotiate a peace of sorts, after Gawain died in battle and came to Arthur in a dream, begging him to make the peace that he had not been for in life. But an accident started the war all over again, and it eventually destroyed the perfection that was Camelot. Mordred and Arthur ultimately ended one another, in the final battle.

A whole damn lot more happens in the book, and everything I've just said is really about fifty times more complicated. But that's all you need to know, for now. Research is a bitch, isn't it?

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Le Morte d'Pietro

_Wherein Pietro finds that it's good to be the king_

_Telltale Quote: You don't sleep with your best friend's wife, even if you're in love with the guy and can't have him –Pietro Maximoff_

  


Jean-Paul rubbed sullenly at his bruised arm as he reached the top of the stairs and started down the hall toward his room. _Dieu_, how he hated Mr. Logan's Danger Room sessions. Talk about a world of pain... that pendulum had clipped Jeanne-Marie on the arm and sent her spinning hard, right into him. That was definitely going to leave a mark. And the look she'd given him when he'd tried to help her up afterwards probably burned right through his forehead. She was still angry about his joyful reaction to her and DaCosta's recent breakup, and hadn't spoken two words to him in three days. 

Small price to pay, for her to be free of that dodgy prick, as far as Jean-Paul was concerned. But he'd be lying to himself if he tried to pretend he didn't miss their talks, even in such a short period of time without speaking.

Kurt waved at him wordlessly, looking just as beat down as Jean-Paul felt, as he turned off into is own room, and Jean-Paul nodded, also silent. He just wanted to go back, lay down, and sleep for an eternity. Emotionally, physically, exhausted. His muscles felt like gelatin... burning gelatin, in fact.

He pushed the door open and staggered inside, pulling his shirt over his head at a perfectly normal speed, for once. Get clothes off, go to bed. Shower later, eat after. Sleep now.

"There you are!"

Jean-Paul froze, shirt still over his face, arms in the air.

"Jesus man, I've been here over an hour!"

He sighed and pulled the shirt off, dropping it unceremoniously to the floor, and stood staring at the beautiful silver-haired boy sprawled on his bed, looking at him over the top of an open, red-leather bound book.

"Pietro, what the hell are you doing?"

"Speed reading. This book is good. I buy great presents." 

Jean-Paul sighed, wondering why he was at all surprised by anything Pietro did anymore, then threw himself onto the bed on his stomach, next to his friend, face half-buried in his pillow as he turned it to the side. "You're not supposed to be in here without one of us. How'd you get in?"

"Window."

"You've learned to fly?" Jean-Paul snorted.

"Run fast enough, and gravity really doesn't count for much. It's all about inertia. Or something. I let myself in. I'm sure old Chuck knows, and he didn't kick me out."

Jean-Paul considered this, and decided that it was probably fairly accurate (once he realized who the hell "old Chuck" was supposed to be, of course.) Xavier had to know who was in his own house. And, he grimaced at the thought, what they were up to.

_Certainly hope baldy enjoys the show..._

But he decided not to bring that up, and instead commented, "You'd make a wonderful thief, Pietro."

Pietro slid downward a bit, so that he was level with Jean-Paul, and closed the book he was holding, the copy of _Le Morte d'Arthur _he'd bought Jean-Paul for his birthday. "Yeah, I did. Only got caught twice... well, pretty much."

Jean-Paul raised one eyebrow at his friend. Now _there _was some information he hadn't been privy to before. "You were a thief?"

"Not like, professionally," the other speedster laid the closed book on his stomach now, and put his hands up, behind his head, stretching out like a long, lean cat, surprisingly slowly. Jean-Paul knew, of course, that Pietro probably did that so that he could get a good look at him. Pietro did so love to be admired. 

But really, that was one thing Jean-Paul didn't mind obliging someone about– admiring Pietro. 

"I had to steal sometimes, back home in Transia. And then I just did it for fun. And I lived off it while I was back here in the States, living in the city."

Jean-Paul simply stared, for a moment, rather impressed. He'd had a vague inkling that his friend was not American born for a long time now, though he wasn't quite sure how he knew it, or who'd told him. Probably Pietro, really, but Maximoff said about as much about his past as Jean-Paul did. Which was not enough to speak of. And he knew for certain that he'd not heard the name of that country before...

"What?" Pietro asked with a laugh, clearly misinterpreting the stare. "Don't tell me you're disappointed in me, JP."

"No," he answered, finally, "Just that I used to do the same. Back in Montreal. Before I made it skiing."

"What a pair of delinquents," Pietro mused, staring up at the ceiling and grinning. 

Indeed. Certainly made sense though. At least, it might explain why they both enjoyed the same kind of trouble so very much. And account for the similarities in their attitudes, in certain circumstances. Interesting, anyhow. "Where the fuck is Transia?"

Pietro's brow furrowed in annoyance, "Near Romania."

"Oh, that's helpful," Jean-Paul pretended to scoff, too tired to bother with real sarcasm.

"Uneducated prick."

"Says the boy who's just read his first book."

Pietro gave him a half-hearted smack on his bare back, "Fuck you, dude. So listen, I read the book, and it's bad ass. I think Lancelot is gay."

Jean-Paul pushed himself up on his elbows, and stared at his best friend for a moment longer, just blinking. "You're sure you read _that _book?"

"Yeah, Sir Thomas Malory," Pietro tapped long fingers on the cover of the book on his stomach. "Lancelot– gay."

Jean-Paul knew that his friend could speed read and retain a great deal of information, but he also knew that the guy could lose an awful lot too, if he wasn't careful. And Pietro was hardly the sort to be a careful reader. And anyhow, what the fuck... "I think you missed the bit where he started banging Guenevere, Pietro. _How _fast did you read it?" 

"I read it _twice_," he sniffed in reply, "And it took me a half hour. And I'm telling you, he's _gay._ Look at this...," he trailed off and picked up the volume resting on his belly, and flipped about a hundred pages in, lightning fast.

Jean-Paul just watched, honestly amazed. First off, he'd never expected Pietro to take an interest in anything literary, let alone to want to hold a conversation about it. After all, a conversation about literature had nothing to do with Pietro Maximoff, and was therefore not a conversation worth having.

Hrm. Perhaps he'd been unfair to his dear friend once again.

And second, watching Pietro flip through a book like that, even if Jean-Paul knew he wasn't exactly _reading _it at the moment, was pretty goddamn brilliant. Not for the first time, he was struck by the fact that Pietro was lucky to be as good a guy as he was. Sure, it wasn't saying much, but that a guy like him, whose mind went so fast, who could process and react at such a speed, could hold still _at all _living at a normal pace... it was a real fucking miracle. Jean-Paul had trouble himself, and he had a hard enough time not making trouble or a mess or... well, something awful at least once a day.

Bit Pietro, having found the passage he was after, was talking at him again, and pointing at the page with one hand. "Right here. Page ninety-seven. These four queens are trying to make him pick out one of them to screw. He's all _no way dude_!" 

"It's called chivalry, fuckwit," Jean-Paul collapsed back onto his chest, face first into the pillow. 

"It's called _he's a queer_. And _look, _he's even caught kissing this dude in bed a few pages later–," Pietro sat up straight now, obviously, if mysteriously, excited about the idea of proving his point to the Canadian boy. He pulled his legs up under him, Indian-style, and leaned against the headboard.

Sighing, Jean-Paul pushed himself up again, and situated himself upright, though his body protested immediately at the treatment. He threw his right leg over Pietro's left, and pulled his own left leg up, knee almost to his chest, then folded his arms on it. "Ok, ok, I'm looking."

He was tired as hell, of course. But he couldn't help but be interested. Pietro, excited over a book. His favorite book, nonetheless. It was a day he'd not expected to see in his life, that was for certain. 

"Look at that," Pietro stabbed his finger into the page, right where there was a lengthy explanation of Lancelot climbing into an unknown party's bed, exhausted after his escape from the four queens. 

He remembered the story as soon as he saw what Pietro meant, of course. When the knight who owned the tent and the bed came in, he started kissing Lancelot, thinking it was his lady. Lancelot jumped out of bed, confused and afraid, and the two fought, and the other knight was badly wounded. Lancelot felt bad, of course, but that didn't mean he'd _enjoyed _making out with some random knight. 

Jean-Paul had thought it was pretty funny, actually, the first time he'd read it. Alright, he had the second time, last month, as well. But honestly, Pietro had it all wrong. The X-Man took one arm from his knee and gave his friend a smack on the arm. "He tries to kill the other man after that! Anyhow, it was an accident."

"Oh sure, and by the way, my apologies about that blow job last night. That was totally an accident." Pietro smirked, rolling dark blue eyes and then flipping through the book again. "Anyhow, the fact that Malory even put that scene in here is really suggestive enough. I mean, this whole book is about how much women suck. They're all either evil sorceresses or temptress-demoness things. If Lancelot isn't gay, then Malory had to be. Wait, wait, here it is..."

Jean-Paul just shook his head, completely in shock now. "You really _did _read this, didn't you?" Even if he didn't agree with Pietro's assessment... it seemed that his silver-haired friend had really given it some thought. More, even, than he had, it seemed.

Pietro glared at him out of the corner of his eye, then looked back down to the book he now held propped against Jean-Paul's right knee, over his lap. "Of course I fucking did."

"No, I mean you _read _it. Really closely. I mean, you have _theories _on it."

"I'm a juvenile delinquent, not an idiot," Pietro mumbled, flipping backwards now, obviously having missed his mark and irritated about it. "Every time you like something about me you act all shocked. Honestly, Jean-Paul, sometimes, I think you're just using me for my amazingly hot body."

"That's because I am," The Canadian boy quipped, immediately. God forbid he should admit to being totally fascinated by what Pietro was _saying _at the moment. Not to mention that he was amazed by the fact that the other speedster was astute enough to notice a pattern like that in Jean-Paul's reactions to him. 

Once again, he'd underestimated Pietro. 

Or, he'd simply never wanted to admit to the fact that his friend was amazingly clever and actually sensitive at times. 

That would make him so much more than a good lay, after all. 

"Show me what you're on about," Jean-Paul shook his head a bit, physically trying to clear out the mental cobwebs that were diverting his attention from the discussion. 

Having settled on a page, finally, and obviously content with Jean-Paul's joke rather than a real answer or insight, Pietro pointed to a line. "Look, right here. He's going on and on about how sex basically emasculates you because it interferes with your relationship with other men. Page one-hundred-and-eight!"

Jean-Paul skimmed the lines quickly... and had to admit, he might've had a point. "Well, I suppose that is a bit..."

"Gay? Yeah, I know, dickhead."

Jean-Paul took the book from him, now totally engrossed in this quest, and re-read the section a few times, more carefully. "I don't know, though. Maybe we're just putting a modern spin on things."

"Bullshit!" Pietro stole the book back and flipped a few more pages ahead. "And he does it again later. Look, right here," he pointed, "Hallewes the Sorceress. She totally wants on him, living or dead. And he doesn't even screw her."

"Well, true," Jean-Paul consented, "but I don't know that I'd want to sleep with someone who wanted me living or dead, either. However, it does back your claim that our author hates women. But... Pietro, you're totally ignoring the fact that Lancelot was banging the Queen."

"That's 'cause he was in love with Arthur."

Jean-Paul closed his eyes and gave a rather confused, helpless laugh, at that. "_Where _did that come from?"

"Dude, all he talks about is all that brotherhood shit with Arthur. Fucking a guy would've been considered a sin, especially by someone as freaky and religious as Lancelot, so he transferred that to Guenevere. I mean, since she wanted on him anyhow–,"

"That's insane. Adultery is sin too, so if he was going to sin anyhow–,"

"No way! Being gay was considered even more evil then than it is now, don't be an idiot," Pietro argued. "He had to get off somehow, so he took the lesser evil, as he saw it, of the two choices offered to him!"

Jean-Paul held up a hand, now laughing outright, and unwilling to fight about it. He didn't give a fuck either way, anyhow. "Ok, fine, he's gay. So you liked the book?"

"Yeah, but Arthur got the shaft man. Thanks to his Queen and that asshole Lancelot."

"Pietro, They were in love," He countered. He felt ridiculous after he said it, of course, but he'd always considered the two lovers as having been put in a rather difficult position by fate. And yes, they screwed and it made the perfect kingdom fall down, but still. They always say that love does strange things, who was he to argue? And anyhow, as a kid, he'd liked the idea of the tragic sort of romance...

God. Enough of that.

Pietro, apparently, agreed. "Fuck that! Lancelot was a fucker!" He exclaimed, pointing one finger at Jean-Paul's face menacingly, nearly touching his nose. "You don't sleep with your best friend's wife, even if you're in love with the guy and can't have him."

Jean-Paul sighed heavily, "Arthur loved him too, and for a reason. Their friendship was that important to him, that he let it go. Lancelot was a good knight, and his friend, and he looked the other way because he loved them both. And there would've been peace, if not for Gawain–,"

"Can'tblamehim!" Pietro cut him off, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest, as if it settled the matter. "Gawain did what I woulda done. Ok, ok, let me try and explain my point to you about Lancelot with the story, alright?"

Jean-Paul simply raised an eyebrow at his friend. This should be interesting.

"Say, I'm King Arthur, right? And Rogue... Rogue is my queen. But you're an old school knight, you're Lancelot, so even though you _want _to fuck me, you can't. You're too repressed."

The Canadian held back the snort that such an ironic statement immediately made him want to let out. Because he honestly did want to hear how Pietro would convince him. If he could at all. 

Part of him really wanted to be impressed by this conversation.

And part of him, of course, wanted to write it off entirely, because it was just a little too scary to think of Pietro... this way.

But the Brotherhood speedster was already beginning his tale, "Ok so Rogue is your girl..."

  


*********

_Rogue is sitting alone in her dark room in the castle, on a huge canopied bed, hung with red and black translucent drapes–_

Much to Pietro's irritation, Jean-Paul cut into his story with a sarcastic, "Pietro, you're awfully interested in her decorating."

"Hey, who's telling the story here?" Pietro held up a hand, looking down his nose at his friend as best he could, considering that they were sitting at eye level with one another, in supreme annoyance.

"_Excusez-moi._" JP rolled his electric blue eyes to the ceiling. "By all means, continue."

Damn. If he was going to be interrupting all the time, Pietro didn't think he'd _ever _get to finish. "Don't mind if I do. Now shut the hell up and listen."

_She sighs to herself, wistfully. Her heart has been heavy lately. Though she is married to the greatest king England has ever seen, the man who has managed to unite the country, bring peace and prosperity to it's people, loved and adored by all, King Pietro–,"_

Jean-Paul, obviously unable to control himself any longer, let out a sarcastic snort this time.

Pietro narrowed his eyes at the other boy. Goddammit, he was _trying _to make a very important point here! "_My _story. Anyhow, that's all true of Arthur!"

"Arthur, yes. But you said Pietro–,"

"The role of King Arthur is being played by Pietro Maximoff today. You'll get your shot when the annoying French asshole comes into the story, ok?"

Jean-Paul rolled his eyes once more, but the pummeling Pietro expected was not forthcoming. JP simply sat, staring at him expectantly. 

Satisfied, he carried on. Because this was one battle he knew he could win. This was _so _that asshole Lancelot's fault!

_She loves her husband dearly– he is a brilliant leader, a gentleman, and, of course, stunningly handsome. But lately, despite King Pietro's looks, wit, and prowess in bed, she has been confused. She loves him, without question, but she can't help but notice the way her heart skips a beat every time Sir Jean-Paul enters the room._

_ Jean-Paul is handsome, of course, noble and the best knight in Pietro's brotherhood of the Round Table. And despite the way her kingly husband rocks her world at night–_

"Ok, if you're going to tell the story, at least tell it right. And knock it off about how brilliant you are in bed," JP interrupted once again, with that typical fucking sexy sneer he had.

Pietro pointed at him accusingly, "First of all, it's _my _story. Second, I _am _amazing."

Jean-Paul raised an eyebrow at him, but kept quiet.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

"Fuck you, Pietro," JP laughed, rolling his eyes again and giving Pietro a half-hearted thump to the chest.

"That's the idea," Pietro grinned back. Not that he wanted to get sidetracked while he was on a roll, but he couldn't help himself... and it was JP's own damn fault that he'd taken that shirt off. That multiplied the turn-on factor exponentially.

"Seriously," his friend gestured for him to continue, "finish your story. Just lay off the bullshit, _sil vous plait_. It's getting deep in here."

"Fine, you just shut up and let me work then."

_Despite the way the King is considerate of her every need, she can't help but swoon just a little when her eyes meet Jean-Paul's. And lately, the looks they've been sharing have become so intense, she finds herself hopelessly, helplessly attracted to him. She knows, in her head, how very wrong her need for the young knight is, but her heart is traitorous, and won't forget him._

_ She thinks of him all the time now, how he carries her favor to every tournament, how many times he has championed her. At first, she'd thought he did those things out of his undying devotion to Pietro. But since they've begun sharing those heated looks, she's been finding reasons to speak to Jean-Paul, small tasks for him, that are well beneath his station. He does anything she asks, however. Almost as if he wants a reason to speak with her too._

_ And on nights like these, when her valiant king is out hunting with his knights, she finds it almost impossible not to wish for him. She loves her husband, but she wonders if she might not also be in love with Jean-Paul. _

Pietro stopped, his mind racing from trying to come up with flowery medieval romance sounding crap (not that it was so difficult after reading that book twice, but still, it sounded freaking stupid), and examined Jean-Paul's face for a moment. The Canadian X-Man was chewing his lip thoughtfully, obviously considering the plight of Guenevere.

Sweet. JP would eat this up, and soon he would agree that Pietro knew everything, and Lancelot was a dick.

Well, at least, that Pietro knew everything about Lancelot being a dick. Which was enough, really.

This was some really cool shit though, Pietro had to admit. Ultimately depressing as fuck, but not exactly a heavy read. Just some romance, fantasy, tragedy... hell, even a bit of comedy thrown in. JP had good taste in books, apparently. In everything, really. And Pietro knew him well enough that he could practically see the thought process in his friend's head, at the moment, could see JP considering things from every angle, before measuring out a response to him.

He loved to try and guess what it would be. He was on about fifty percent of the time. But when dealing with a loose cannon like Jean-Paul Beaubier, those were really damn good odds. So he wasn't about to complain. 

"Read a lot of romance novels?" The shirtless boy finally asked him, in an extremely neutral, conversational tone. But with his trademark smirk firmly in place. 

Oddly enough, it only made Pietro want to kiss him. It was a mildly inexplicable sensation, other than the shirtless thing. But then, JP was at his best when being snarky.

But no. Distractions were bad, and would thwart his plan. He had a point to prove, and Jean-Paul obviously wasn't going to get it without having it spelled out for him like this. And Pietro, if he was anything, was always right.

At least, he figured he was. And he figured it was about time Jean-Paul should know, because the guy was stuck with him for a good while now. 

"Yeah, actually," Pietro stopped that train of thought immediately, and admitted the truth to his friend, feeling a grin appear on his own face. "John always had them laying around, when I was with Magneto's crew. He writes the shit, I think, but he won't admit to it. Takes me about five minutes to read one, so I'd pick them up now and then."

"John?"

"Pyro. Totally fruity Australian guy, laughs all the damn time, likes to chase people around with horses made of fire. A real weird-o."

JP raised his eyebrows. "I see."

Pietro didn't much want to think about Magneto or his little cronies at the moment either. The little walk down memory lane to Transia a few minutes ago had been more than enough for him. "Anyhow, the point is, she loves me, you love me, but you two get it on eventually, and repeatedly. Does that make sense?"

"Pietro... Rogue can't stand you."

Pietro rolled his eyes at his irritatingly obstinate friend. "Don't be a fuck, you know what I mean. And say some pals of mine... Agravaine is Lance and... Mordred is Todd–,"

"You realize," Jean-Paul started laughing instantly, "That this makes Todd your son?"

Gross. 

But actually, it worked, for the purposes of the story. Mordred was pretty much a slimy bitch, after all. That suited Toad. Well, ok, so Todd was actually kind of alright sometimes, once you got past the smell... but still. It'd do. "Yeah, but with some looney half-sister who doesn't exist in our little world here, unless Magneto has been busier than we know, so forget that part. He's a dodgy guy, and he's Brotherhood. Whatever, right? So Lance and Todd come to me..."

_Lance and Todd enter the room, and it's as if a dark cloud has descended over the King's head. They are dark-faced and whispering like conspirators will– and Pietro has a feeling that he knows what those whispers are about. The King is not blind and deaf, he sees and hears the rumblings of the court over his wife's possible indiscretions with his own best friend and right hand, Sir Jean-Paul. And though it bothered him, at one time, his great love for both his Queen and his friend quickly eclipsed any pain he may have felt. He loves them both far too much to deny them their happiness, even if it means he must turn a blind eye to their activities– activities which, in his country of England, condemn them both as traitors to the Crown._

_ An offense punishable by death. _

_ And now here come Pietro's kinsmen, and the two biggest trouble-makers of the Round Table, his cousin Lance and his misbegotten son Todd, the product of witchcraft and evil deception, in his younger days. And the King knows, somehow, that this time he won't be allowed to turn a deaf ear._

_ Todd creeps up on him in his own personal sitting room, bringing the smell of the moat with him. "Sire, you know we don't like to give you trouble, yo–,"_

"Wait, wait," Jean-Paul was laughing, "is it me, or did Mordred just say _yo_?"

"Well... it's Toad," Pietro shrugged. 

"But... it's not."

"No... but it's my story, so shut it, flyboy."

Jean-Paul simply kept laughing, quietly. But he did, in fact, shut it.

_"–but we have lately been hearing some disturbing news, and felt obligated to let you know what we've found." _

_ King Pietro looks at his son for a moment, then closes his eyes, with a sigh. "What is it you want to speak to me of, Sir Todd, Sir Lance?"_

_ Lance stares at his king for a moment, grinning evilly, obviously enjoying the news he has to impart to Pietro. "There is talk of your queen committing treason, milord. And we think we can prove it to you. We hate to see you, the greatest king the country has ever known, made a fool of by a woman cheating on you. It is an insult to you, the Table, our family, and our country."_

_ "You have proof that the queen is untrue?" Pietro raises one eyebrow at his nephew, praying that it's not true. _

_ Lance nods at him, however, slowly, "Aye. Proof. Or rather, we know how to get it."_

_ "Sire, just give us tonight to prove it," Todd jumps in, obviously unable to contain his excitement at the prospect of ruining his father's marriage– the marriage that keeps him from being the heir to the crown. "Go out hunting with your boys, and you'll see. She'll call Sir Jean-Paul into her room, and we'll catch them goin' at–,"_

_ Lance smacks the younger knight, to shut him up, sending Todd hurtling across the room. And the dark-haired nephew of the king smiles sweetly, once that task is accomplished. "The entire court knows about them, sire. If you allow this to continue, people will say you are weak. It will lessen your hold on the kingdom, it will be your downfall. But if you allow us to stop this, right now, prove it out in public, your kingdom will flourish."_

_ Pietro is silent, for a moment. Because, to be perfectly honest, the kingdom means very little to him without the fellowship of his knights, without the love of the people who have made the kingdom what it is. He loves to see his people happy, growing strong under the ideals his Round Table has upheld... it's his duty. He is king. They depend on him. _

_ What can he do, but pray that she will not choose tonight to call to Jean-Paul?_

_ "I will go hunting," he finally sighs, "But I want you to know that I trust and love my wife. She is no traitor. And if you're wrong... it's going to be your heads, you realize."_

_ Todd has hopped back over to them as Pietro spoke, and now stands looking at the king. "Yo, um... you mean that literally?"_

_ King Pietro nods at them. Determined and resigned all at once. _

_ He is king. And he has to be in control. His options are to kill them here, or to do as they ask, really._

_ So, he went hunting, with a heavy heart._

"Ok," Pietro held out his hands now, "So I'm against the wall here, right? 

Jean-Paul shook his head, "No. Arthur didn't _have _to agree to Agravaine and Mordred's plan to send him off hunting, to trap the Queen. He could've said screw off, I trust my wife."

"He _knew _they were right," Pietro insisted, flipping quickly to the section he had just been re-telling to his friend, eyes flying over the pages with inhuman quickness, until he found the passage he wanted. "Says right here– _For the king had a deeming of it, but he would not hear thereof_. _Hello_, Arthur loved them too much and they took advantage of it! That's ok, when the entire kingdom doesn't know. But if Agravaine and Mordred saw, and he'd heard about it before, he had to know that soon everyone would see. And rather than deal with the unrest a weak king would cause, Arthur has to hope that the bitch will control herself for one night, and the asshole will stay away. Which, of course, he does not, even when Sir Bors warns him. Say that's JM, right?"

The Canadian X-Man cocked his head, reminding Pietro quite a bit of a curious cat. "Jeanne-Marie... is Bors?"

"Yeah, right," He nodded.

_"Cousin," Sir Jeanne-Marie begs Jean-Paul, her close friend and confidante, as well as her kinsman,"I ask you not to go to the queen tonight. I will make no judgment on what it is you and she do when you're alone, but I have a bad feeling– if you go, something will happen."_

_ But Jean-Paul is helpless and he knows it. Anything Rogue asks of him, he must do instantly. It is bred into him as a chivalrous knight, sworn to be her champion, and yes, as her lover. Though it torments his mind daily, though he knows it condemns him to hell, his need for the queen, after he gave in to it once on that fateful night where the wounds from his hands left blood on her sheets, where he had championed her even though she was as guilty as sin, defended her honor even though he had taken it himself, at her pleading invitation..._

_ Ever since, he hasn't been able to say no. Night and day it torments him, but each time she calls, he comes to her. _

_ "I must go, Jeanne-Marie," The good knight tells his cousin, though he knows she can see perfectly clearly what is happening between himself and the queen. "Nothing will happen, she likely needs me for some small task. I will return soon, and you'll see."_

_ "No," Jeanne-Marie shakes her head, and takes her cousin by the arm, unwilling to let him go. "Our King Pietro is out for the night, and this smells of deceit. Do not go to her, she will be the end of you. I know that love has taken you, but please, trust my instinct."_

_ But Jean-Paul can only shake his head at her, as he turns to walk away. "I must, cousin. I have no choice."_

"You were awfully nice to Lancelot there," Jean-Paul pointed out, shifting on the bed to re-situate himself. He took his leg off of Pietro's lap, and slid down onto his back, head on his pillow, arms underneath it, cradling his head. He stretched out his long legs, still clad in warm-up pants, and crossed one ankle over the other. Obviously settling in for the rest of the story.

Good. Pietro did love to have a captive audience. He slid down to his side, and propped his head up with one hand, elbow in the bed, laying the book on Jean-Paul's bare stomach, just in case he needed it. "Well, I was going for his point of view. Really, I think he's a weak son of a bitch and should've just jumped into bed with me."

"With _Arthur_," Jean-Paul corrected, raising his eyebrows quickly. 

"When you're Lancelot and I'm Arthur, I'm going with the idea that you should be in bed with me."

Jean-Paul actually grinned at that, rather than rolling his eyes. Pietro couldn't quite decide why it made his stomach jump, but he definitely decided that he didn't want to think about that too much. "Lucky you, you have me where you want me. Anyhow, just because we're screwing around, and happen to be taking on the roles of Lancelot and Arthur, that really doesn't mean that those two particular characters have to be screwing around. I mean, fantasy is all well and good, but you have to observe the line, in order to make any kind of believable argument."

"You have it backwards," Pietro insisted, "I cast the story that way because we happen to be prime contenders for the roles, considering. I didn't change the story with us in mind, I'm using us to tell the story."

"In that case, carry on."

Oh, he was _so _buying into this. 

_Jean-Paul enters the queen's chambers with a soft knock, and she looks up from her bed, hopefully. Seeing her lover there, she smiles at him hugely, and runs to his arms. _

_ The knight finds himself smiling back, and puts his arms around her, holding her close for just a moment before asking, "What is it you needed, my lady?"_

_ Rogue looks up at him, green eyes flashing, and smiles, "Do you even have to ask me, Jean-Paul?"_

_ And he feels his heart tear in two, as he always does when he comes to her. He wants to tell her no, wants to say it's wrong, wants to say that their love for Pietro should keep them from this, even though he knows deep down that his own love for the king is the very thing that drives him to this–_

"Pietro... that's _not _in the book," Jean-Paul sighed, tapping a finger on the red leather of the book on his stomach. 

Pietro rolled his eyes, annoyed, "Try and keep up with me here, JP. _My story_, remember?"

Jean-Paul actually laughed, making the book bounce so much that it slid off his stomach, and onto the bed between them. "Fine, go, tell the story."

"Stop interrupting. It's rude."

"Fine. I'll stop interrupting when you stop chewing with your mouth open at the table."

"Christ, what are you, my mother?"

"See, now you're _really_ getting us confused with European royalty– the family tree that never branches."

Pietro just rolled his eyes once again, and carried on. 

Really. Some people.

_ But before he can speak another word to her, a tapestry on the far wall falls to the ground, and four knights spring out from behind it. He can recognize them clearly enough– Sir Todd, Sir Lance, Sir Kitty, and Sir Fred! Jeanne-Marie, he now realizes, was right. _

_ He's caught, like a rat in a trap._

_ He spins the queen around and puts her behind him, following his first instinct to protect her with his life, and pulls out his sword, belted at his waist. They are all in full armor, and advancing on him quickly, and he is wearing only his tunic, which puts him at a sore disadvantage. But he prepares to fight anyhow, as his stomach turns to stone, knowing that his life, and the lives of those he loves, will never be the same._

_ "Give it up, Sir Jean-Paul," Lance sneers at him, drawing his own sword and stepping out in front of the lot of them. "You're caught– red handed! You and the queen must be tried for this treason!"_

_ "She did nothing!" Jean-Paul insists, although he knows he is lying. It's a lie he's told for her more than once. A lie he's certain condemns him to hell, but which he cannot stop telling. "She is innocent. I came to speak with her, and she has done no wrong. Let her go and I will come with you."_

_ But Todd is laughing now, maniacally, "Forget it, yo! We know what we saw, and soon King Pietro will too. You and Rogue are going to burn for this."_

_ The others with them simply laugh and keep coming forward, swords in hand, glaring threateningly. _

_ "Jean-Paul!" Rogue pulls at his sleeve now, "You must go, or they will kill you. They will not kill me. I will speak to Pietro, and perhaps he will–,"_

_ "No," the knight insists, his eyes never leaving his opponents, "I won't leave you to them."_

_ "You must," She returned, now near to tears. "They will not kill me. They are jealous of the favor you carry with my husband, they will never let you leave here alive."_

_ Jean-Paul realizes the truth of her statement, but cannot justify leaving her to their mercy, so he leaps forward and takes out Kitty with one swipe of his blade. He arms himself as best he can in her armor, as she lays on the floor bleeding, and fights the other three, and then the five or six more who come to join them, obviously their back-up. But it becomes clear, before long, that even the great Sir Jean-Paul cannot fight the entire castle, and that it will probably come to that if he remains. _

_ When next Rogue entreats him to run away, he finally agrees, heart heavy and eyes burning. But he knows that she is right. The knights will not kill her, their queen. And he will have his chance to rescue her soon enough._

_ But god. What will Pietro do when he finds out? What will he think of his best friend, of his beloved wife, and how they'd betrayed him for so long?_

_ At the thought, he almost wants to go back, so that they can kill him. If he wasn't responsible for the safety of Rogue now, for the position she was in because of his weakness... he would._

"You're good at this," Jean-Paul commented, "That was quite moving."

Pietro examined his friend's face for any sign of sarcasm. Not finding any, he simply said, "I know."

"What about Wanda? Why wasn't she with them?"

Man. JP was damn smart, but sometimes he really did miss the obvious. "No way. Wanda is like... Gaheris right? She wouldn't be in on any plot against you, because she loves you."

Jean-Paul sighed, "Ok, I see where you're taking this, and it's wrong, because Gawain–,"

"Scott."

The X-Man stopped, and furrowed his brow at his friend, flipping over onto his side now, to match Pietro. "... What? Why?"

"Scott would be Gawain," Pietro explained, trying to be patient. Cyke was the obvious choice here though, considering that he and JP had some kind of weird, inexplicable friendship. "Gareth can be Alex, his youngest brother. You and Alex get along, say Alex really looked up to you, thought you were god-like or something. Well, Wanda and Alex, they wouldn't have any part of this shit. Neither would Scott. So Scott, as my servant and kinsman, along with Wanda and Alex, comes to me..."

_Scott shakes his head at Pietro, trying to explain his feelings about the horror that his own brother Lance and Sir Todd had caused the evening before. He has known about the queen and Sir Jean-Paul, or at least has had an idea, and his brother Lance had wanted his help in the matter of exposing them, but he would not hear of it. And now look at the mess it was causing. "Sire, uncle, please go light on the queen. My brother and your son, they have contrived to make things seem worse than they are, perhaps. Jean-Paul is our best knight, a good man, friend to both of us, ever true to our fellowship. Surely, there is an explanation."_

_ Scott's two other siblings, Wanda and Alex, the two youngest, stand with him in the king's chamber, also shaking their heads sadly. The news of Jean-Paul's near capture last night had hit them both hard, particularly Alex, who had been knighted by Jean-Paul because he would have no other, his love for the older knight had always been so great. Scott is not the most articulate of men, nor the best with emotion. He knows only what he feels, and is not good at expressing himself. But he can't stand seeing his family torn apart like this, particularly the gentle Gaheris and Gareth, who are good men and kind, or seeing the avarice and treachery that is fast taking over his beloved court. _

_ But Pietro has been listless all day, and is only shaking his head, sadly. "I wish I could do as you ask me, Sir Scott. But they were caught, and there were witnesses. He was in the queen's chamber, his arms around her. The buzz of the court is against them, and now it only grows worse. She has been proven untrue, as has Jean-Paul. If I go lightly on them, if I change the law, the law I made myself for the sake of peace and justice in the kingdom... what does that say? That I am above it. My entire rule has been based on the exact opposite principle, that I rule _for _them. How can I betray my country?"_

_ Scott puts a hand on his uncle's shoulder, understanding well enough what he means, but still unwilling to accept that his good friend Jean-Paul and the good queen Rogue can truly be at fault here. He is as loyal as a dog, and sometimes as stubborn. "I still wish you would change your mind. You know well enough that he will come for her. He won't see her burned for his sake."_

_ "I need you there, Scott. And you two, Wanda, Alex," Pietro shakes his head sadly, staring at the floor. "We must carry out the law. Even if it ruins me. I must do for my people what I can, even if it kills me."_

_ Scott understands, but he cannot fight his feelings on the matter. "I cannot be there, milord." He looks to his younger siblings, and sees their troubled looks, but knows that they will be unable to fight their king and uncle on this. They are too young, too untried, while Scott is almost as old as the king himself, and holds much sway over him. "My brothers will go, but not willingly. Only because they haven't the heart to fight you."_

_ Pietro looks up then, finally, at the younger knights. "I will need you beside me. He will come for her. And I need all of us to be there."_

_ "We will go," Alex says, slowly, "But I will not bear arms against Jean-Paul. I will not wear my armor or sword."_

_ "I am with you, brother," Wanda affirms. "I will be there, for your sake, uncle, but I will not make war with him whom I love so well."_

  


"In the meantime," Pietro broke out of the story, which was actually getting quite engrossing, really, "You and your mates are getting ready to save Rogue. I don't want to burn her, but she's been proven a traitor, so what can I do?" Man, it really sucked how Arthur got shafted like that... that was really fucking sad. 

Jean-Paul sighed, and put his head down on the pillow, looking rather upset by the whole thing. "I still don't think it's Lancelot's fault. What was he supposed to do?"

"It is his fault!"

_Jean-Paul came riding in hard in the grey morning, on his white charger, unflinching determination in his eyes. His life was changed forever, but he would not see hers ended. Not for him. Part of him knew that Pietro would want him to do this very thing– the king has always loved Rogue. And part of him thought that he should simply give up and die next to her, for what they'd done to the king. _

_ But his kinsmen and nearly a fourth of Pietro's knights, knights who did not believe that Jean-Paul had done wrong, rode with him this morning. To save Rogue from the fire. From her own husband. From the justice that she and Jean-Paul both deserved. _

_ The battle that soon rages around him makes it too difficult to see, exactly. But the smoking pyre that the queen is to be burned at is clear enough, and he hacks his way through the melee expertly, single-mindedly, knowing only that Rogue must not die for him. The din of battle rings in his ears, he's heard it so many times before. But he is undeterred, he races to her side, cuts her free, and pulls her up behind him on his horse, then races hard and fast away from the castle without a word to her. His only concern is to get her to freedom._

_ Little does he realize that two of the knights he rode down in his quest for the queen were two of his beloved friends, the noble Wanda and the young and gentle Alex. _

_ All he knows is that his world has come crashing in, and the battle in the courtyard, friend against friend, factions that should be one now split down the middle, is all that is left of it._

_ And he is to blame._

Jean-Paul looked positively depressed by the time Pietro had finished, his sharp, normally wicked face drawn and his eyes far away. 

Normally, Pietro would've gloated about that. But to be honest, he was feeling pretty goddamn depressed himself, and didn't have the heart, really. 

"I would never–," The darker boy began to protest, albeit halfheartedly.

Pietro was quick to note that it was the first time Jean-Paul had referred to himself as Lancelot. He was pleased that his story had taken in his friend, as he had planned, but he was so taken in himself that he couldn't even manage a smirk. He just lay his head down on his own pillow, and held one hand out in front of him, telling JP to stop talking. "You're Lancelot, shut it. That's the way the story goes. He didn't mean to kill them, yeah, but he did. And _that's _where he _really _lost the battle."

_Scott is positively livid. "What do you _mean _they're dead?! Wanda and Alex loved him, how could he do this to them?"_

_ Pietro can only shake his head, and try to put a comforting hand on his nephew's shoulder, but Scott quickly shakes him off and begins pacing the length of the room, in fits._

_ "It was accidental, Scott. The battle was loud and dusty, he couldn't see who he was riding down as he charged to save Rogue," He tries to comfort his kinsman, but finds that his heart is so broken, he cannot even do that much properly. The battle that had raged under his window, that he'd rushed to join just a little too late, had killed something in him. It had been like watching brother against brother, his knights fighting Jean-Paul's. _

_ Scott will not be comforted, however. It's too late. He is angry. And when Scott is angry, Pietro knows, he rarely forgets until he's been satisfied. "They were unarmed! He rode down two unarmed knights?! They _loved _him, Pietro. And this is how he repays that love, the love that made them put away their swords and armor for him? He will pay for this, sire. We must ride to war, immediately."_

_ Pietro shakes his head, "Scott... it may not be necessary. Perhaps we can talk to Jean-Paul, make some kind of peace..." The king does not have the will to go to war with his best knight, with his best friend. He can only hope that Jean-Paul will be willing to reason with him, to accept some kind of banishment from the kingdom instead of a fight._

_ But Scott does not seem as if _he _will accept such a thing, let alone Jean-Paul. "No. There will be no talking. He has killed my good brothers, who loved him, who worshiped him as a god. And he will die for it. Him and all those who would oppose you, Pietro. We will end him. _He must pay.

_ The king has no answer for his nephew. He too is saddened by the deaths of Wanda and Alex, two of his best, most noble knights, not to mention his family, his friends. But Scott is enraged. And Pietro knows that he will not stop until Jean-Paul is dead, now. _

_ And he will not allow Pietro to, either._

"Now you and me," Pietro broke off again, "we're best friends, so of course we could've talked it out. But I have nephew Gawain breathing down my neck, and an entire empire to maintain control of. We just want to keep living, but now you've killed half my family, on _top _of stealing my queen–,"

"Whom I...," JP stopped and furrowed his brow quickly, then slid both hands up under the pillow under his cheek, and pulled his knees up to his chest as he thought through what he wanted to say. 

Hell. That was actually kinda cute. Made him look younger, when he wasn't being all sneering and sarcastic. Not that he wasn't beautiful when he was sarcastic, but this was kinda ok too, really.

"Whom _Lancelot_," the Canadian corrected himself, "was bound by honor to rescue, since she was in that position because of him."

"My point exactly," Pietro conceded, "It was _your _fault. But it takes two to fuck, so let's not absolve Rogue just yet huh? She invited him in, and he accepted. Bitch of a thing to do, for both of them, but they did, and now we're at war. The war that kills the dream, man. And whose fault is it again?"

Jean-Paul pulled one of his hands out from under his pillow and flipped Pietro the bird quickly, returning to smirking for a moment. "Arthur's for turning a blind eye for so long."

"Bullshit," Pietro laughed, knowing he'd won, "You don't believe that!"

JP rolled his clear blue eyes and sighed, then flipped over onto his back again. And didn't reply.

Pietro- one, Jean-Paul- zero! He _knew _that JP would see it his way. 

"So it's the fault of you and Rogue," he couldn't help but spell it out one last time, just for fun, even though he was still feeling a little beat up from the story, really. "I'm the noble ruler, who's been taken advantage of by his loved ones. Rogue is my queen, who fell for you. And you're my confused, utterly gay best friend who's banging my wife 'cause he can't have me."

"Yeah," JP suddenly smirked again, "And Todd is your son who you got by sleeping with some mysterious half-sister, don't forget. None of it ever would've come to light if that little shit hadn't been in the picture. So as you see, the initial sin of Arthur led to his downfall."

Pietro sat up straight, now, narrowing his eyes and staring down at JP hard, "She put a spell on me!"

Jean-Paul pushed himself up to sitting too, and looked him in the eye, "Rogue put one on me! They said that in the book too, that it was suspected that Guenevere put a spell on Lancelot!"

For a moment, Pietro simply considered his best friend. And then he let his shoulders slump a bit. "Yeah, probably. I mean, he's gay anyhow, that'd make more sense. He's definitely gay."

Jean-Paul suddenly laughed, and Pietro realized that they'd almost gotten into a heated argument over who, exactly, had been subjected to witchcraft in an imaginary medieval world that was entirely in their heads. 

"Ok, ok, maybe," JP chuckled. 

But Pietro wasn't letting go of it that easily. Imaginary or not, he was right, dammit. "C'mon JP..."

Jean-Paul rolled his eyes and made a gesture with his hand, like he was brushing something away. 

It was a concession. JP's way of saying "yeah, ok, you win," without actually having to say it.

Good enough! "You know, all that means is that if Arthur and Lancelot had just gotten it on in the first place, the dream would still be alive today."

Still laughing, just a little, mostly silent but with his shoulders still shaking, Jean-Paul asked, "Since when do you believe in happy endings?"

"Better than death by Toad," Pietro prepared himself mentally for the final, most painful story he had in him. 

Really, it was fucking cool that JP could sit here and talk about this shit with him. He'd feel like a real idiot talking about some stupid medieval book with anyone else. And sure, Jean-Paul was a bastard most of the time. But he was always cool when things mattered. 

Pietro could appreciate that. Meant a lot to him really. Even if he wasn't quite sure why, or how. 

***************

_King Pietro cannot understand how things had gotten so far out of hand. The battlefield was quiet all around him, all of his knights, and all of the opposing faction's, Sir Todd's, lay dead or bleeding to death on the field. Of course, Todd's intentions had become clear as soon as Pietro had gone to war with Jean-Paul, the war Todd himself had begun in order to seize the throne. And now they are at war with one another, the king and his traitorous son. Jean-Paul is lost to him, as is his beloved Rogue. And his own son has wiped out all of his good knights, crushed his dreams and his empire. And now, this is all that is left._

_ A battlefield of dead heroes. _

_ But the king sees the traitorous devil-spawn, not far in the distance, through the murky dawn. Tired, but full of blood lust for the one who has crushed his dreams, taken everything from the people he loves, Pietro runs at him full tilt, shouting, "Traitor! Now your death-day has come!" _

_ Todd narrows amber eyes at his father. But Pietro will not be stopped by looks, and shoves his heavy spear under the traitor's shield, and straight through his belly, instantly, until it bursts out the other side._

_ Todd looks down, and it becomes clear in his eyes that he knows he is done for. He suddenly pushes himself forward, however, until he is closer to his father, sliding himself up to the hilt of the spear almost, and takes his sword in both hands. Wordlessly, he swings it with all the might left to him, and hits King Pietro so hard on the head it breaks his helmet and cracks his skull with a sickening crunch._

_ That done, he slumps to the earth in a swoon, and dies almost immediately._

_ King Pietro reels backwards, clutching his head with one hand, his sword Excalibur with his other, and finally comes to rest under a tree. Bleeding, broken, and lost, he waits for someone. Someone to come and take the sword back to where it's meant to be, before he dies._

Jean-Paul swallowed heavily as Pietro finished his story. He knew he should be feeling stupid for being so into it, especially in front of the silver-haired imp sitting across from him on the bed. 

But damn, that was depressing. Kinda funny, if he actually pictured Todd and Pietro doing it. But just the idea of it... what a shitty ending.

And even weirder yet, Pietro seemed to be struck by the gravity of it as well, despite the rather humorous suggestion of Toad being his end. And his son. He must've really been identifying with Arthur, to be that taken in. Which was unexpected. And kind of cool, if a little... scary.

"Yeah," The Canadian speedster managed to choke out, after a moment of blank stares from both of them. "That sucks."

Pietro seemed to come to life, after he spoke, and sighed heavily. "Sucks it like it has the antidote, my friend."

They were quiet a minute longer, and Jean-Paul tried desperately not to be impressed with what had just happened. Sure, it was stupid and silly and childish to get wrapped up in some kind of fantasy like that. But... and he might be mistaken, but it _seemed _that they had just had an intelligent, thoughtful, and rather fun exchange of ideas. 

And it'd been... really fucking cool.

Fuck. 

"I'm hungry," he suddenly announced, half because his stomach was roiling impatiently, and half because he didn't want to think anymore. 

"Chinese?" Pietro offered, obviously in agreement. It was a rare moment when either of them weren't hungry, really.

"Na. Italian."

Pietro wrinkled up his nose, "Thai."

Jean-Paul nodded, satisfied. "Let me shower fast, then we go. I'm disgusting at the moment."

Pietro picked up the book on the bed, and waved a hand impatiently, "Use some of that inferior speed of yours and get a move on. I'm not going to spend my whole day waiting for you."

Oddly enough, if he'd said that an hour ago, Jean-Paul might've believed him.

But he caught Pietro watching him as he slid out of his warm ups and wrapped his towel around himself on the way out the door. Thoughtfully. And it almost made him wonder. 

END 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

AN (number TWO!): First of all, I realize that I just way oversimplified, cut, hacked, and slashed _Le Morte d'Arthur. _I read the book once a year, I've taken a class on it at University, written papers on it, I understand that I did not do it justice, and took out a lot of complications. However, a lot of the issues Pietro brings up here are those I've heard doing academic research type nonsense on the book– Lancelot's (or, for that matter, Malory's) sexuality, what really caused Arthur's downfall, etc. Let's face it, I've made it perfectly clear that they want on each other at all times, JP and Pietro. But isn't it about time they had a real conversation?

That said, I have got to let everyone know now, that **_Here Comes Trouble_ is officially over!** I know, I know, I said one more chapter after this, but what I wanted to do with the last chapter was basically leading into the sequel. In fact, it was going to be integral to the sequel. And, to be honest, I'm pretty happy with this as an ending. It seems appropriate to me, and seriously, I don't think I've ever had as much fun writing as I just had putting this chapter together. For some reason, making my obsessions collide makes me happy. I can only hope that it was half as interesting to anyone reading as it was to me!

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and/or read. Thank you a hundred thousand times. I honestly believe that I've become a better writer just doing this, thanks to you all. And I expected it to be silly, ridiculous fluff. But as it turns out, I ended up feeling like it was a lot more, for some reason. Much is set up for the next round, which will be off the ground well before the end of the month, if I have my way, and will be called _Thicker than Water_. The kids were introduced in _Relativity_, they had their fun in _Here Comes Trouble_, and in _Thicker than Water_, they'll find themselves put to the test, in a big, fat, scary way. 

In other words, incoming angst.

And of course there will be the fluff companion to this one, for when _Thicker than Water _starts to kick my ass, as it inevitably will. Probably called something lame like _Here Comes Trouble: The Lost Chapters_ since I suck with titles and summaries and the like!

And _that_ said, let me go ahead and keep shamelessly plugging myself. Sue Penkivech, who I refer to regularly in my notes as the reason I can't make Bobby gay, and who has Bobby living in her head, incidentally (I'm not joking, she writes the best Iceman ever, in my opinion. And I love Iceman, if you haven't noticed, so I'm picky, dammit), and I have decided to take matters into our own hands and steal our favorite characters from the hopelessly nonsensical Marvelverse, at the moment, and give them the action, credit, and attention to character they deserve. We've started up our own little comic book of sorts, and you can find it, if interested in 616 fic, under the name Fallen X-Angels (just type /~fallenxangels after the ff.net address, it's there!) Our crew, predictably enough, is known as the **_Fallen Angels_**. So if you're a fan of cannon Northstar, Iceman, Husk, Nightcrawler or Jubilee (and two more to come!) It might be interesting for you. (Unless you're like Caliente, who is too fast for us, and already found it! Go you!) Issue #1 is up and kicking, and we hope to throw out one a month. 

Moving on...

_S-Star: _Thanks so much for the reviews, Sugah. I suppose the last chapter was quite "action packed" as you say! I wanted to have the feeling of a lot going on at once, all centered on one place. It wasn't quite as successful in that sense as I wanted, but hell... I'm so in love with Wanda and Sam, I can't be upset at the moment! Funny, how so few people really felt bad for Berto, though ;)

_Krac: _I can imagine that your cousin's coming out caused a "fun Christmas at the old homestead." And just so you know, that line had me laughing for about five minute straight haha! I'm glad that the reaction seemed honest. Scott, particularly Evo!Scott, strikes me as a good guy. But awkward. And rigid. Good thing JP is there to loosen him up! (Ok, I didn't mean that how it sounds, but you know what I mean!) As for Alex's fag hag... well Jubes is coming back... mwahaha.

_Shaman Dani: _You're right, of course. JM does deserve better. I feel kinda bad that I used Berto as a sort of "learning experience" for her. But I know my first few were... hell they all still are. And yeah... I don't feel too bad about it either. I mean, he's cute... and I like Roberto... but... yeah. I'm with you! Thanks for all the reviews, you've been so helpful to me through this.

_Risty: _I'm actually going to do JP getting them drunk in the weird second part to this fic, HCT. JP is the devil. Isn't he beautiful? I'm glad that my Sam was worthy of your approval, I was a bit worried about doing him so much because he isn't really there so much in Evo. So I just took canon Sam, and made him... well, younger. Less certain. I'm glad it's working, and thank you so much for all the help, and your inspiring stories! Just for you, I think I _will _be bringing Rahne back!

_The M: _Holy hell, there you are!! Gods, how I've missed you! I thought of you when I finished Sex and Samosas, and purposely named Dirty Bass for our shared love of that very thing. I had no idea you had an _All in the Family _experience of your own! My friends and I used to get together and scream that when we were totally pissed up back in my late teenage days. And yes... yes the Malfoy connection is just disturbing. I can't watch Harry Potter now without hearing that snarky little voice going, "Try and keep up!" Miss you, luv, and hope all is well.

_Gir: _HAHA! You were high, in your underwear, and couldn't use the microwave. Mwahahaha! Oh, oh the memories. Seriously though, I'm so super excited that you've made it this far. I honestly am overwhelmed by you sometimes, and your uncanny ability to just _get _things that I know none of my other friends ever could. You're the only person I really know, in real life, who has read anything I've done. That's pretty damn huge, to me. Oh and one more thing: _Day likes GAY CARTOON PORN!!!_

_The Rogue Witch: _As it turns out, you were right. Only 16 chapters ;) You're absolutely right. Sam/Wanda is insane. But I get so bored of R/R, Jean/Scott, all the things that are _supposed _to happen. And I guess, as I saw with my own group of friends in the dorms, sometimes, the least likely thing is the thing that ends up working the best. I'm really glad you ended up enjoying that, and I hope you continue to. And although I love coffee (clearly, I have drug issues, caffeine, alcohol, weed, I need to stop writing about putting nastiness in your body, don't I?), I can understand. A French soda for you and JM ;) Remind me, next time we see each other (!?) That I owe you one!

_Akuma no Tsubasa: _I wish I could take credit for the alien moshing. My friend had a stomach issue during my freshman year of college, and he used to say he thought he had an alien in his stomach. We went to a Rob Zombie concert once and he was laughing that the thing started moshing. Lucky for my friend, the moshing seemed to kill his alien. Looks like Wanda is stuck with hers! And yeah, to be honest Scott/Jean annoys me, and I agree– the whole Emma Frost thing, as gross as it is, served its purpose. Thanks for the help and encouragement on this story, you've been fabulous!

_Caliente: _You know, it's nuts, but not many people were too upset about Berto getting dumped ;) Wonder why! I really didn't mean to paint him as a bad guy, I like Berto, but I honestly thought she needed to learn before I dumped her into more angst and love and other kinds of crap. And can you send me a picture of your Sam Shrine? I was thinking of erecting one myself! 

_Rivulet027: _Funny you should say that high JP is normal you... cause that's exactly how I am when high haha. We have much in common... if I'm high... which I'm not at the moment. *gasp* *shock*! Glad you caught the thing with Todd choking over Wanda in her bathing suit, I think you were the only one to mention it. Poor Todd is kinda getting the shaft at this point, but it happens, apparently. Poor dude.

_Fata Morgana: _Ups and downs indeed! I agree, some bits in AF make me want to choke JP, and that's exactly the reaction I was going for with that last bit in JM's journal. While I made him a lot more fun in this fic than he is in 616 (well, he's younger, he's not been through the AF bullshit, etc, I figure it's justified... sorta ;) ), he's still JP. I am really glad you like my JM. I couldn't stand to write such a stupid, flat character as she is in 616, I had to give her _something_. And while her instability will come back to the forefront before too long, I wanted to use these stories to give her a little... substance. I'm glad that was accomplished, and I'm glad someone like you, with your backlog of AF knowledge, can accept it as an ok risk to take! Thanks for all the help throughout this, darlin. 

Ok, I'll stop now. Thanks to everyone, once again. I can't say that enough. Sorry about the plugs before the shout-outs, but I've been a busy little bee, apparently. I do love you all. 

This is Beaubier, signing off

  



End file.
